Sacrificio
by Lucky Gun
Summary: Tony has to sacrifice everything for his team in order to save them from his family. Tony whumping. Includes descriptions of child abuse. COMPLETE.
1. Shot in the Dark

Title: Sacrificio

Chapter: Shot in the Dark – Chapter 1

Summary: Tony has to sacrifice everything for his team in order to save them from his family.

Categories: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Family/Friendship

A/N: Okay, first NCIS fic! Major Tony-whumping shall be commencing! Hope you guys like! Please R&R!!!

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_There is glass all on the floor of the bullpen, one of the large windows shot out by multiple long-distance shots. Tony stands silently, staring at an unknown woman on the ground. Her eyes are open, staring at Tony, but she doesn't breathe and blood trails from her mouth. Blood covers her throat and chest, staining the floor beneath her. Tony raises a hand to brush away a single tear under the guise of checking a cut, leaving a blood trail across his face._

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The day had started rather smoothly. Tony had been the first one in, depositing custom coffees at his team members' desks. Ziva had been next, muttering something about American traffic laws under her breath as she threw yet another speeding ticket into the trashcan. Seeing the coffee cup, she merely nodded to Tony her thanks. McGee appeared shortly after, barely looking up from a stack of mail in his hands. Such was his concentration that he didn't see the coffee cup on his desk until he smacked it with his bag.

Startled, McGee quickly snatched at the cup, which just pushed it over the edge and, thankfully, into his nearby trashcan rather than on the floor.

_Clean it up, boy, before I give you something real to cry over!_ The sudden internal voice made Tony flinch before immediately schooling his expression.

Looking up with a suitably guilty expression on his face, McGee sought out Tony, who was watching him with something akin to wistfulness on his face. "Sorry, Tony. I didn't see it. But thank you – I'm sure I would have enjoyed it."

Tony waved off his apology, tapping his pen on his desk in rhythm. Truth was, he'd had a bad feeling since he'd woken up, and he was trying to fight whatever Karma was trying to throw at him. Signing softly, Tony shook his head. Apparently, it wasn't going to be as easy as a cup of coffee.

_You're never going to be able to get out of something that easily, Anthony. You're never going to be that important,_ the voice came again, the thick Italian accent echoing through his head.

He was torn from his musings as a hand waved in front of his face, just an inch from his nose. Jerking back, his hand automatically going for the SIG he somehow forgot to secure in his desk drawer, he quickly focused on the angry face before him.

"Uh, morning boss," Tony offered hopefully, pulling his hand from his weapon as nonchalantly as possible.

Gibbs wasn't buying the act, though. He had taken in his senior agent's grab for his weapon, and he was slightly taken aback by a slight paleness to Tony's face and dark circles under his eyes.

"Morning, nothing. You look like hell, DiNozzo," he gruffly commented.

_You look like your mother, you little son of a bitch._

Schooling his reactions with little less than 30 years practice and no more than a millisecond of preparation, Tony ignored his mental demon and let his hand drift to his gun, raised his eyebrows, and said in his usual and cocky manner, "Careful boss. Up all weekend with a couple friends of mine…kinda got a hair trigger, if you know what I mean."

His 100 watt grin didn't falter as Gibbs gave him a once over before turning and stalking to his desk. "Leave that kind of problem at home, DiNozzo, or I'll show you personally the finer points of Marine kickboxing techniques."

_Take off your shirt and give me your belt, boy. I'll show you what happens when you bother me and take up my time with your piss poor problems._

Tony's smile slipped only marginally before he turned his attention to securing his weapon and booting up his computer. He focused completely on the tasks he set before him, trying desperately to get rid of the bowling ball in his gut. He couldn't place what was wrong, or even if anything was wrong, but he knew he would find out one way or another as the day went on.

Focused as he was, he missed the second and third looks that Gibbs threw his way from his own desk. One was a thankful nod for the strong coffee awaiting him, the second was a calculating glance as Tony reached for his desk phone. Watching carefully out of his peripheral, Gibbs listened for his second's voice over the low din of the bullpen.

"Hey Abby. Yeah, yeah, I know. No, nothing yet. Hey, question, Abs. You got any kind of feeling today? Just anything. No, huh? Guess I should be relieved. No, no, everything's fine. Yeah. Gimme a call if you feel something, okay? All right. Thanks Abs. Yes, I – what? Yes, I promise. Okay. Bye."

Setting the phone in the cradle, Tony released a breath and rubbed at his eyes, concentrating on the sinking feeling in his gut. He knew he was missing something; he knew that there was something going on, somewhere. He just couldn't place it.

His next actions were automatic, driven by deep reflex rather than actual need; his body simply responded to his unease the only way it knew how. He bent over in his chair, double checking that his unsanctioned secondary weapon was in place in its customary ankle holster. He pulled it, not caring who saw the weapon, and checked that it was loaded and primed. He then straightened and checked that his belt buckle knife was in place and undetectable to those who didn't know it existed.

He should have known that Gibbs was watching, but right now his need was to quell the unease that was building in his gut. He went for a shoulder holster, hidden carefully under his jacket. This third weapon was equally unsanctioned – carrying as many weapons as he did was grounds for disciplinary action, but Tony knew he could get away with it. Checking that this third weapon was also primed, Tony buttoned his jacket and let his eyes dart around the room.

Gibbs watched in interest as his second's eyes first went to Ziva, checking her over for any sign of injury or illness. Apparently satisfied, his gaze went to McGee next, taking stock of his condition. Seeing some tired lines around the MIT ace's eyes, Tony immediately stood and offered him his own coffee.

McGee blinked at the coffee cup before him and hesitantly reached for it while catching the older agent's eyes. "Uh, thanks, Tony, but you don't need to give me another cup."

Tony's voice was light, but there was a darker edge to it that Gibbs hadn't heard before. "Take it, Probie. You didn't sleep much last night and you need to be at the top of your game if you're going to stay alive in this job."

The irony was lost on the senior agent as McGee raised an eyebrow at Tony's own soft pallor and dark eyes. "Uh, sure, Tony. Whatever you say."

Tony nodded once and returned to his desk. His eyes raked over the entirety of the rest of the floor, checking doors, stairways, and personnel. Seeing nothing amiss, Tony took his seat and stared blankly at his computer screen.

_What is it, boy?_ The voice from the past suddenly invaded his fluid line of thought. _You think you could really protect them from anything?_

Ignoring the urge to cut the voice from his head with a second knife he had hidden in his shoe and the third scalpel blade hidden in his watchband, Tony picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

"I need to know where he is," Tony said without preamble as a woman picked up on the other line. He listened to her response, then kept his voice low as he snapped, "I don't care about that. I just need to know if he's in Chicago or not."

Gibbs turned from the folder he was reading as he heard the anger in Tony's voice. He watched his agent quizzically, though no expression showed on his face. He took in tight muscles and clenched fists, and eyes that flashed dangerously.

Finally, Tony relaxed slightly and nodded before putting the phone back in the cradle. He blinked a few times, and the edge that had shown in his green eyes suddenly disappeared behind a jovial twinkle.

Looking up suddenly as he listened to that seventh sense of his, he caught Gibbs looking squarely at him. Blinking twice, Tony quickly allowed a light blush to light up his cheeks. "Uh, a friend of mine and her ex-boyfriend…trying to stay out of the doghouse and in the bed."

The lie was believable for Gibbs, only because of Tony's usual personality and because he wanted to trust Tony. So he grinned slightly and turned to his own computer. "Four wives, DiNozzo. Don't need to tell me."

Grinning in earnest now, Tony turned his attention to Ziva, desperate to throw the attention from his own actions to someone else. "And you would know all about that, wouldn't you, Ziva?"

The dark haired Israeli looked up from her own computer quickly, her eyes slightly wide in shock. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Leaning forward in his seat, Tony whispered loudly in a conspiratorial tone, "Rumor has it you've had 7 husbands, and you've killed them all with a piece of cooked spaghetti."

Choosing to play his game, Ziva leaned forward and answered in the same low tone, "Actually, it was 8 husbands, and it wasn't spaghetti, it was linguine."

Tony's joker smile fell slightly, but an honest shadow of it remained. Ziva was a good agent and a great friend. She was different from Kate – the thought made his heart beat mercilessly against his chest – but it was true. Kate would argue and reject almost all of his humor. Not only did Ziva normally embrace it, but she often turned it around on Tony, engaging him in his own game.

"Well played, little Ziva," Tony smirked.

Adopting his same light tone, Ziva leaned back in her chair and asked mildly, "Who's playing?"

Tony smiled and would have answered except that his attention was suddenly drawn to the bell of the elevator. The doors opened, and Tony felt the feeling that had been growing in his gut explode.

"Carrabella…?"

It shouldn't have been as much a question as it was. She hadn't changed much in the 15 years since he'd seen her. Her hair was still the same length and color, her face relatively unchanged except for her crows feet and a lost shine to her eyes.

Tony stood and walked around his desk, aware that his team was looking at him carefully. Gibbs especially – he was on his feet the same time as Tony.

The woman appeared to be in her late 50's and was wearing nondescript clothes. She walked towards Tony hesitantly, her eyes betraying an underlying grief.

"Carrabella, what are you doing here?" Tony asked as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

The woman in his arms said nothing, simply returning the gesture. Finally, she pulled away slightly and noticed his curious teammates. Glancing at the windows that offered some slight privacy from the bullpen, she gently tugged Tony towards the glass.

"Parlano italiano?" she muttered quietly, her voice filled with something Tony couldn't quite place.

Tony shook his head, immediately aware that he had to drop any pretenses he'd had before. And he had to drop them now.

_Always told you, boy, you'll never amount to anything. Can't even lie when you need to._

"No, non fanno. Che cosa sta accendendo, Carrabella?" he murmured to her, a hand on her shoulder.

Suddenly, all the emotions the woman had been hiding rose to the surface. Tears began to fall down her cheeks as she gripped his designer suit jacket.

"Non ho molto tempo, piccolo Anthony. Il vostro padre è qui. Dice che ha molto dolore da causare. Dice che dovrete proteggere quei amiate da quello odiate. È andato pazzesco, Anthony!" she sobbed, her tears coming faster.

Tony stood stock still, his eyes showing fear before a mask of severity fell over his features. Grabbing her hands in his, Tony shook his head.

"Perché ora, Carrabella? Ho fatto che cosa ha chiesto quindici anni fa. Non ho fatto niente a lui. Perché ora?" he asked, his tone rising so his voice carried throughout the bullpen.

Had he looked, he would have seen Ziva and McGee looking at him with shocked expressions, their awe at his fluent Italian obvious. Gibbs was simply watching the situation, one hand on his desk phone, should he need it.

The woman in Tony's arms grew more hysterical.

"Non ho tempo, Anthony. Ho attraversato il vostro padre. È arrabbiato con me. Ho voluto semplicemente avvertire che il senso la vostra madre non foste avvertito mai. Sta venendo per voi, il mio piccolo nipote. Verrà presto!" Her voice conveyed true fear as she spoke.

In response to her words, Tony ground his teeth and offered in English, "I will protect you, Carrabella. Let me help."

Her tears slowed and she smiled a weak smile as she raised a shaky hand to caress his cheek.

"You always watched out for others, my little Anthony, even when you had no one looking out for you. He let me come, to tell you. His last favor to his sister, I suppose. But you cannot protect me. It is too late, little one."

Tony's eyes widened immediately at her words.

"I will die knowing I have kept my promise to your mother."

Suddenly, Tony turned to the bullpen and yelled, "Everyone down!"

The warning came a fraction of a second before Tony's senses were overwhelmed with the shattering of glass. He pushed himself and Carrabella to the ground, one hand over his head and the other pulling her close to himself. He recognized the sounds of sniper bullets hitting what was supposed to be bulletproof glass. He heard shouting of orders and recognized a low moaning sound.

Fear gripped his heart as he looked towards the woman he had in his arms. She was looking at him with a small smile even as blood bubbled from her lips. The bullets continued, one every three or four seconds, and Tony could vaguely hear Gibbs yelling for him.

"Dammit, Tony! Get in cover!"

Anger and bile rose like a tidal wave in Tony's throat as he watched the woman on the floor struggle to breathe. A shot, through and through, had perforated her throat. There was nothing he could do.

Clenching his fists as he laid her gently on the floor, not minding the glass as it sliced at his arms, Tony knelt beside her, ignoring the bullets around him.

Faintly, he could detect words in her gurgles. "Lo vederò ancora, Anthony."

He didn't respond and didn't let his mask drop, either. Instead, he simply nodded and held her hand as she exhaled one last time.

Time seemed frozen for a moment. The woman before him was dead, her message delivered. Her blood mingled with his own. The bullets continuously came now, and their sounds suddenly awoke a rage he had not felt since his mother had been killed.

"DiNozzo, get down!" he heard.

_Do what you're told, boy, or you're going to regret it._

Heard and ignored.

Standing suddenly, he turned towards the shattered glass. Almost the entire pane had been destroyed from the hail of gunfire, and Tony heard the shards of the ruined window crunch under his feet. Bullets continued to fire, coming from the far riverbank across from the NCIS building. All of them came close to him – none of them hit.

Tony glared out the window and the gunfire suddenly ceased. He could see the sniper, maybe 400 yards away, stand and stare at him through binoculars. He heard an echo come across the air.

"Siete stato avvertito."

With calmness bourn by rage, Tony lifted his right hand, covered in mixed blood, and extended his pointer finger and thumb. Aiming the imaginary gun, he took a shot, his thumb closing.

"Siete stato promesso," Tony whispered, knowing the other man could read his lips.

An alarm suddenly sounded through the NCIS building and over external loudspeakers.

"This is not a drill. This is not a drill. Shots fired. Lockdown procedures initiated."

Tony tore himself from his staring contest as the loud notification broke through his thoughts. He turned towards the dead woman again, his rage dimming slightly as he stared into her open and lifeless eyes.

"Appena come gli ho promesso."

He became aware of a stinging sensation in his eyes and a trickle down his cheek. He raised his hand to wipe away the tear, pausing to touch the cut a shard of flying glass had caused. Tony's fingers, drenched in Carrabella's blood, left a red trail across his face.

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Okay, that's the first chapter! Please R&R!!! The Italian will all be explained in the next chapter. I used a digital translator, so don't come crying to me if it's wrong! I just do what technology allows!


	2. Liquid Memory

Title: Sacrificio

Chapter: Liquid Memory – Chapter 2

Summary: Tony has to sacrifice everything for his team in order to save them from his family.

Categories: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Family/Friendship

A/N: Okay, the Italian translations to the previous chapter are in this chapter. I've gotten a review from Tostytilly regarding the Italian, and thankfully, it's almost all correct save for some switching around. I say in the story that it's an "odd dialect of Italian" just to save my ass here, cause I know it's probably a lot worse than Tostytilly admits. Now, here's my secret! AltaVista's Babel Fish Translator. :D Sorry – I speak Spanish and English and I know Cockney Rhyming Slang (thanks to my husband) and Latin, but Italian? Not so much. So, for those who do know it, pardon my translations and my butchering – just be happy I'm not trying to actually speak it! LOL! Enjoy, all!

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_Gibbs stares hard at the sight before him. Tony's beloved Mustang sits silently in the parking garage. The senior agent's service piece and badge rest on the hood of the car. His car keys dangle from the driver's side lock, swaying slightly in an invisible breeze. And a single word is written in dripping red blood on the driver's side window._

"_Arrivederci."_

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Ducky and Palmer had taken the body of the woman to autopsy almost 15 minutes ago, the elder examiner silent for once after he saw Tony's bereaved stare. The riverbank was being cleared, though no one thought they would find the sniper. And Tony and Gibbs were having an impromptu conference in Gibbs' usual office.

Once inside the elevator, Gibbs angrily punched the emergency stop button. Tony schooled his mask and solidified his story in his head – it was going to be difficult to say, but he needed to do this.

_Yes, lie to him, just like I taught you. Sure, he'll hate you. That's the damned point, boy!_

The thought helped Tony push through his own fears.

"What the hell is going on, DiNozzo?! I have a sniper taking shots the second a woman you are obviously familiar with steps in here, nobody's hit other than that woman, and it's a damn piece of luck that kept you in one piece!"

Pulling a sheepish and repentant look, Tony merely gave a small, "Sorry, boss."

_Don't apologize, boy. Just get out of my sight, you disgusting filth!_

Gibbs fairly growled and stepped towards his senior agent angrily.

"This isn't a joke, DiNozzo! You could have been killed! What the hell is going on?"

Tony shook his head, offering what he hoped looked like honest confusion. "I don't know, Boss. I knew that woman a while ago – some old family friend – and she just kept rambling about stuff that I didn't understand. When the sniper shot, I guess I just froze. I don't know what to say, Gibbs."

He managed to look him in the eye the entire time, not once flinching from the harsh blue gaze. His father had a harder look; it was easy for him to endure Gibbs' stare.

Taking a small step closer, Gibbs asked quietly, "And that last part, DiNozzo? Where you pretended to shoot the sniper?"

Tony shrugged, knowing nothing he said would make enough sense to cover what he did. He went for the flippant answer, instead. "Played too much cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians as a kid, I guess."

_DiNozzo's don't play, boy. Now get your ass back to your studies before I teach you how to 'play' Russian Roulette._

Keeping his breathing easy and his eyes firm, Tony kept his tongue from saying anymore. Gibbs just stared at him for a minute before some of the anger died out of his face.

"I'm disappointed in you, Tony."

That cut Tony deeper and quicker than anything else he was expecting. But, then again, it was unfortunately the best thing Gibbs could say to him.

"I know, boss." _You know nothing, boy, but how to fail everyone in your life!_

Gibbs shook his head and restarted the elevator.

"Wait for me in the conference room. You'll have to give a formal report on this. But first go see Ducky – make sure you're not hurt."

Tony nodded, not arguing. It was time to fulfill his promise, after all.

"Yes, boss."

The doors opened to the basement, and Tony stepped off. He glanced back, though, as the doors started to close.

Catching Gibbs' eyes, Tony suddenly dropped the mask, revealing all the weariness, panic, fear, and self-loathing that he had become so skilled at hiding. He saw Gibbs' face morph from one of silent fury to one of shock.

"Ho pensato che avessi più tempo. Sono così spiacente, ma devo andare," he whispered.

He barely caught the look of confusion as the doors sealed closed before he turned his attention to Autopsy.

Inside the elevator, Gibbs stared hard at his reflection as the elevator rose.

"Dammit, I need to talk to Abby."

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Storming into Abby's lab, Gibbs immediately noticed that her normally loud and invasive music was silent. McGee and Ziva jumped as he barged in.

"All right, who the hell here speaks Italian?" he snapped.

Abby whirled and immediately pointed to a woman in the corner. "She does, Gibbs. Agent Billens. I pulled her from Records as soon as McGee and Ziva briefed me on what happened upstairs. And I already have the video cued up."

Gibbs stepped around her station to look at the plasma. "Cue up outside of Autopsy, too, from five minutes ago on. DiNozzo said something and I don't like not knowing what it is."

Abby nodded and her keyboard clacked for a few moments before the video of the bullpen began playing.

"Well played, little Ziva."

They heard Tony's voice loud and clear – the bullpen was rigged with only the best in audio and visual detection equipment.

"Who's playing?"

Ziva cringed at the sound of her own voice on the speakers, but remained silent.

"Zoom in on DiNozzo, Abby," Gibbs ordered, sipping from a coffee cup that McGee would swear had materialized in his hand.

Abby did as she was told. The view suddenly changed, and it showed Tony grinning as he opened his mouth to verbally spar with Ziva. They heard the ding as the elevator opened, and Tony's attention shifted. Gibbs' eyes narrowed as he saw Tony's face shift into a visage of surprise and fear.

"He's scared of her?" Ziva asked.

Abby shook her head. "I don't think so…" She zoomed back out, taking in the entire bullpen again.

"Carrabella? Carrabella, what are you doing here?" Tony's words were only slightly harder to distinguish as his voice dropped in volume.

As the two stepped towards the window, Gibbs snapped, "McGee, when this is done, cross-reference DiNozzo's history with women named Carrabella."

Nodding but feeling guilty at the order to invade his friend's privacy, McGee turned his attention back to the video.

"Parlano italiano?"

"Here's where I come in," Billens commented as she began translating.

"She's asking, 'Do they speak Italian?'"

Abby zoomed in at Gibbs' nod so that Tony and Carrabella were all that remained n the screen.

"No, they don't. What's wrong, Carrabella?" Billens translated Tony's words. Gibbs said nothing as he saw a part of his senior agent he'd never seen before.

Carrabella burst into tears on screen and spewed forth foreign dialect. Abby noticed the confusion on Billens' face. "What is it?"

Billens shook her head, answering, "They're using a very odd dialect of Italian. It's just a little difficult. She said, 'I do not have much time, little Anthony. Your father is here. He says that he has much pain to cause. He says that you will have protect those you love from that which you hate. He has gone crazy, Anthony.'"

Gibbs ground his teeth together at the thought of anyone threatening his senior agent. Hell, his son, practically. _No, not your son. His real father, bastard that he is, is the one threatening him._

He didn't move as he saw a shade of terror drop over Tony's face. He only knew bits and pieces of Tony's past, but he knew the kid was terrified of his father. And it seemed he had good reason, too.

Billens waited for Tony's words before saying, "Why now, Carrabella? I have done what he asked me to fifteen years ago. I have done nothing he forbade. Why now?"

The woman spoke again, and this time, there was definite tension in Billens' voice as she carefully translated, "I don't have much time, Anthony. I have crossed your father. He is very angry with me. I just wanted to warn you – God, this is really an odd dialect, Agent Gibbs – the way your mother was never warned. He is coming for you, my little nephew. He will be here soon."

Tony suddenly switched to English, and a few seconds later, the bullets started flying. The first shot dropped Carrabella, while the other shots simply kept the rest of the team pinned down. From this angle, without the adrenaline of the moment pumping through his veins, Gibbs suddenly swore.

"Bastards were never going to hit him and he knew it! They were just after the woman."

They watched as Tony silently held Carrabella until she managed to gurgle something over the blood.

"Wait, there are bullets, gasping…let me clean it up a bit…there!" Abby said triumphantly as she clicked on her keyboard.

"I will see you again, Anthony," Billens translated.

They watched as Tony stood and turned towards the bullets, the firestorm dying immediately. There was an echo, then Tony offered a whispered reply.

"Abby," Gibbs said, the name itself an order.

"On it, bossman," she said as she quickly scrubbed, enhanced, clarified, and cleared up the vocals.

"The shooter says, 'You have been warned.' And Agent DiNozzo whispers, 'You have been promised.' When he turns to the dead woman, he says, 'Just as I have promised you.'"

McGee asked, "So, he promised the sniper he would kill him? Could he really see that far?"

Gibbs came back around the desk and offered harshly, "A sniper would have a scope and binoculars, McGee – he probably read his lips. Abby, the Autopsy footage."

Nodding, the Goth technician quickly pulled up the requested file. There were a few seconds of nothing, then the doors suddenly opened. Tony stepped out and hesitated, turning back to the elevator.

"Ho pensato che avessi più tempo. Sono così spiacente, ma devo andare."

The doors closed, and Billens quietly translated, "I thought I had more time. I am so sorry, but I have to go."

Gibbs swallowed hard and turned to leave, but Abby suddenly said, "Wait, there's more!"

The older man immediately turned, eyes widening a bit as he saw a camera from the stairwell pick up Tony's movements.

"Damn it, I told him to get checked out by Ducky!" Gibbs snapped.

They watched as Tony managed to get up the first half flight of stairs before he stumbled, barely catching himself on the railing. Even in the black and white video, they could see a fine sheen of sweat covering his face. Tony was breathing heavily as he righted himself with obvious effort. He leaned against the wall and looked down at his right arm.

"He's bleeding badly," Ziva commented, her voice controlled but tight.

Gibbs looked closer, swearing under his breath as he saw heavy drops of blood dripping from Tony's fingers. Tony seemed to notice, too. He pulled something from his pocket, a heavy gauge rubber band, from the looks of it, tripled it up, and slid it onto his forearm over his designer jacket. He positioned the makeshift tourniquet just below his elbow and shook his head sharply, seemingly trying to shake off his weakness.

"DiNozzo's don't pass out. DiNozzo's don't pass out," Tony panted to himself, unaware that the camera caught his words.

As the screen showed Tony slowly making his way up the second half flight towards the parking garage, leaning against the wall the whole way, Gibbs snapped, "What's the time code on this, Abs?"

A single click of her mouse echoed through the silent room. "This was two hundred and sixty seven seconds ago, Gibbs."

He didn't need to hear anymore. He immediately turned and jogged towards the stairwell; he heard Ziva's telltale light steps behind him, and McGee's heavier steps pealed off at the bullpen. A second later, he heard him call for the front gates of the Naval yard to be closed.

The metal door slammed open under his brutal push, and he quickly ran down the stairs. He saw the blood trail that was painted on the walls, and the gravitational drops that marked the path Tony had taken. Gibbs quickly opened the door to the garage and jogged towards where Tony usually parked his beloved Mustang, the red trail leading the way.

Gibbs stopped short when he cleared the other vehicles that had hidden Tony's car. Tony's Mustang was still there. Tony, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Tony's service pistol and badge sat on the hood of the car, a small pool of blood telling Gibbs that it had been Tony to place them there. His keys swayed gently in the lock, a few drops of blood pooling beneath them. And there, on the window, written in Tony's recognizable handwriting, was a single word in blood.

"Arrivederci."

Even Gibbs knew what that meant.

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Yay yay yay!!! That means 'goodbye', FYI. Now, don't get used to updates this quick – I can't promise them everyday. But I did really want to get this chapter out for the translation. Hope you guys enjoy! Major Tony angst next chapter, and hardcore whumping after that! Keep with me here!!!


	3. Just the Past

Title: Sacrificio

Chapter: Just the Past – Chapter 3

Summary: Tony has to sacrifice everything for his team in order to save them from his family.

Categories: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Family/Friendship

A/N: Okay, this contains my own take of Tony' history based on what little we've heard of it. Yes, I take liberties – that's what writers do! There isn't a lot of Tony in here, but there's enough angst, I think…I hope. :D Enjoy! R&R!!!

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_Tony stares straight ahead, a look of vehemence obvious in his features. His lip is split, and blood drips from his mouth to his t-shirt, gradually staining it. He is suspended above the cold concrete flooring, his arms chained to boards, the boards hanging from the ceiling. Tony grins, his eyes showing a reckless and stubborn streak. _

_He mouths words we can't hear._

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The bright lights of Autopsy highlighted the bright red blood that stained the skin of the dead woman. Ducky leaned over the woman, watching as Palmer scraped under her fingernails and deposited what he found in an evidence sleeve.

"This is quite tragic, really. You know, Mr. Palmer, I think I detect some similarities in her facial features and her build that remind me of our young Italian friend," Ducky mused as he positioned the high intensity light over the table.

Palmer looked at him as he began to undo the woman's button up cardigan. "You think they're related, doctor?"

Ducky turned and rummaged through a drawer for the appropriate starting tool as he responded, "It's quite possible, Mr. Palmer. Of course, there are so many Italian descendants in the United States. In fact, there were over seven hundred thousand Italian immigrants in the last decade of the 19th century. Approximately two thirds of them were men, which led to…"

Palmer smiled as he tuned Ducky out slightly. The older medical examiner was an endearing person, though his ramblings could be a bit boring every now and then. His smile faltered, however, as he managed to undo the woman's sweater and her button up blouse. He spotted an eight inch long, very healed scar and a bulge atop her rib cage, just below her right bra-covered breast.

"Dr. Mallard, what do you think this is?" Palmer asked, interrupting the Scot.

Focusing on the body, Ducky frowned as he took notice of the rectangular bulge. "I haven't the foggiest idea, Mr. Palmer. Hand me that scalpel, will you, dear boy?"

Nodding, Palmer handed the tool to Ducky, who immediately and carefully sliced the top later of skin, directly over the scar. He then took the forceps Palmer silently offered, wiggling them into the cut, finally grasping something.

Pulling the foreign object, Ducky and Palmer stared hard at what was extracted.

"Is that…?" Palmer couldn't even finish the question.

Ducky nodded slightly as he set the vacuum sealed camcorder tape in a collection bin. "Indeed it is, Mr. Palmer. Clean off the packaging – Abby won't be able to lift fingerprints from it, given how healed that scar was and how long it's apparently been entombed in her body. Bring it up to her and have her give Gibbs a call."

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Gibbs fought back a frustrated sigh as he listened to McGee's report, doing his best to ignore the workers who were clearing the broken glass and installing improved bulletproof glass panels. Other NCIS agents were recovering the sniper's bullets from the surrounding walls and floors. Fortunately, no computer, television, or audio equipment had been hit.

"They closed the gate, boss, but since Tony's car is here and we don't know where he is…they can't keep it closed indefinitely. And the guards don't recall seeing anyone matching Tony's description leave the Yard."

"Call security and have them pull a third of the agents looking for the sniper and tell them to start looking for DiNozzo instead. Anything suspicious is to be reported to me immediately," Gibbs ordered as he pulled his cell and punched a speed dial.

"Abby, what did you get from the garage cameras?"

On speakerphone, Abby's frustration was clearly heard by the remaining members of the team. "I don't know who it was that messed with them, or how they did it, but the cameras were put on a loop, pulling a recording from 0730 to 0735. The security guards have been watching the same five minutes the entire morning. I'm starting a trace on the alteration, but it's going to take some time to track."

Without bothering to respond to her report, Gibbs snapped the phone shut and turned to McGee and Ziva.

"What did you find about the woman?" he asked as he nursed his extra large coffee.

McGee nodded and switched his attention to the plasma, a click of a remote bringing up Tony's deep background check.

"It seems she was telling the truth. There's a record of a Carrabella DiNozzo-Paccini, apparently Tony's father's sister. Her husband died in an automobile accident about twenty years ago. I couldn't find any record of fingerprints, but…" Here, McGee called up a DMV record, "She has a driver's license. It's the same woman, boss."

Gibbs nodded as he compared the DMV photo with his mental image of the dead woman, then turned to Ziva, who began her rushed report.

"I looked into Tony's father. Anthony DiNozzo Senior is the founder and CEO of DiNozzo Corporations, based out of Chicago. He has been a person of interest to the FBI, CIA, and the SEC. He's never been brought up on charges, but smuggling, insider trading, extortion, blackmail, and other unsavory activities have all been attributed to him."

"Other activities, Ziva?"

The Mossad liaison nodded, then carefully broached the subject she'd loathed to discover. "In 1978, Tony's mother was found dead in her room, apparently of a prescription drug overdose. She'd been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor two years prior and had survived long past doctors' expectations. While it was assumed that she had committed suicide to avoid the pain of the final weeks of her illness, some thought otherwise."

"You're going to tell me who, Ziva?" Gibbs snapped, feeling his rein on his emotions beginning to slip.

Ziva swallowed hard, and McGee suddenly spoke up, saving her from having to say what came next.

"Uh, boss…there are extensive medical records that the ordinary background checks didn't pick up. Um, specifically…" He trailed off, and Gibbs felt his control slip even more.

"Spit it out, Tim," he ordered softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as his gut tightened.

"From the time Tony was three until he was disowned at twelve, he was taken to ten different hospital emergency rooms over one hundred and thirty separate times, total. Reasons varied. Severe bruising, broken bones, concussions, lacerations and contusions, etc. When his mother, Antonella, was found dead, a local detective whom had apparently befriended Tony at his school cried foul, citing Tony's obviously abusive childhood."

Gibbs felt his chest tighten, and for a second he couldn't breathe. _God, Tony…why didn't you ever talk to me about this?_

"Was there a trial?"

Ziva and McGee exchanged an unreadable look before Ziva answered quietly, "No. The detective was found dead from what was apparently a heroin overdose just days after Mrs. DiNozzo's death. No charges were ever filed. The emergency room visits ceased, though a personal physician with extensive surgical experience was added to the DiNozzo Corporation's payroll immediately after the detective's claims went public. There is nothing more in the records until Tony was legally disowned at the age of 12 and sent to the Rhode Island Military Academy. It is unknown who paid for his schooling."

The bullpen was silent for a moment as the team struggled to take in the information they had just discovered. It was McGee that broke the silence. "Boss, why wouldn't this come up in the usual background checks? There's enough from just these records to indict his father for, at the very least, child neglect."

Gibbs didn't answer, his gaze resting on the lid of his coffee cup. He heard a hitch in breathing and glanced at Ziva, who was doing her best to keep her composure. Swallowing his own guilt, Gibbs asked, "What did DiNozzo mean when he told his aunt that he had followed the orders given to him fifteen years ago?"

Ziva blinked back unshed tears and cleared her throat; it wouldn't do well for a trained assassin to cry over something like child abuse.

"We cannot find much about that, Gibbs. As near as we can tell, the odd thing throughout the entire year, fifteen years ago, is that Tony took a month off work – he was twenty four and the head of security at a high-end Chicago hotel – and nothing seemed Amish when he returned."

McGee gently corrected, "Amiss, Ziva. Not 'Amish.'"

Gibbs shook his head as he reached for his ringing cell phone. "I want to know where he was and what he was doing during that month."

Flipping open his cell, Gibbs answered tersely, "I thought you said it would take awhile, Abby." He was silent for a second, his face showing genuine confusion, before he answered, "Yeah, I'll be right there."

Closing the phone, Gibbs snapped, "You guys have until I get back to get that done." He took a few steps towards the elevator before a dark thought crossed his mind. He hesitated, then turned back to McGee and Ziva, who were both still staring at the large plasma.

"Tim, was it just physical abuse?"

Both of the other agents turned to him, and McGee's eyes dropped to the floor. He wrestled with his own thoughts before he said in a detached tone, "No, boss. There were a number of reports and ER visits that revolved around extensive sexual abuse. The detective left a case file that he'd been building around Tony's testimony. Apparently, it wasn't DiNozzo Sr., it was one of his family members and business associates."

Gibbs felt heat flush through his system, and he felt an unfamiliar tingling in his eyes. Before he could ask his next question, Ziva answered, "No, he died in a car accident. It was Carrabella DiNozzo-Paccini's husband."

Gibbs asked incredulously, "No charges?"

McGee looked at Ziva, who tried to hide her anger as she bit out, "No. Apparently, DiNozzo Corporation's lawyers made it go away. Claimed that those reports were all falsified by DiNozzo Sr.'s enemies, and that the rest of it was a blackmail attempt by a heroin addicted cop-gone-bad to feed his drug habit."

Gibbs headed towards the elevator feeling slightly empty. He had all of this anger, and half the people responsible for it were dead.

_I can still take it out on the other half._

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Abby met him at the elevator, her face paler than usual and hugging Burt, the farting rhinoceros. Startled but unwilling to show it, Gibbs led the way to the lab while he asked, "What's going on, Abby?"

Abby held the stuffed animal tighter, eliciting one of its prerecorded noises, before she gestured towards the large plasma.

"Ducky and Jimmy found a videotape sealed inside the dead woman from this morning. Any prints on the vacuum packaging are long gone, and there aren't any prints on the tape itself. The tape is over a decade old, but it still works perfectly. I can't trace the manufacturing numbers because this is an off-brand, made-in-a-sweatshop tape," the forensics expert explained, her voice soft.

Gibbs nodded, then asked the obvious question, "What's on the tape, Abby?"

This made the Goth squirm uncomfortably, then she murmured, "I could only watch a minute, Gibbs. I can't watch anymore. It's too hard. Just…just press play on the tape deck. I'll be upstairs."

Without another word, the usually bubbly tech silently stole from the room without even a glance back. Gibbs didn't watch her leave, instead focusing on the black screen in front of him. He set his coffee down on the desk and took a deep breath to solidify his constitution. Without giving himself enough time to change his mind, Gibbs reached forward and clicked the 'play' button on the indicated deck.

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Ziva and McGee were pouring over their computers as they tried to dig up more information on where Tony may have disappeared to over a decade before. Abby sat in Tony's chair, curled into herself and staring at the sole picture on Tony's desk, tucked beside his monitor where only he could see it.

It was a company Christmas party, the second one Tony had been to. They were down in Abby's lab, all smiling and laughing at the camera. Everyone was there – Tony, McGee, Kate, Gibbs, Ducky, Palmer, and, of course, Abby. They were all gathered around a tiny Christmas tree that had been decorated with crime scene tape and bright pink and purple fingerprinting dust. Abby smiled slightly as she saw that Tony had taken a picture of a very happy Ziva and taped it to the side of the plain frame, adding her to the family.

Abby couldn't pull her eyes from Tony's jovial face. He was laughing at something Kate had said to him as the picture was taken, and one of his arms was around Abby, the other around Gibbs. She smiled as she remembered Tony's gifts to her that year: a signed Plastic Death album that wasn't supposed to come out until a month later, a gift certificate to her favorite tattoo parlor, and a framed caricature one of his many girlfriends had drawn of her from a picture Tony had taken. It was still hanging in her lab.

She was pulled from her musings as the elevator dinged, and the silver doors opened in their usual manner. When Gibbs did exit, he moved at a quarter of his usual pace. When he finally came to stand in the middle of the bullpen, Ziva and McGee looked at him to give their reports, but they faltered as they saw a very lost expression on his face.

"Boss? Are you okay?" McGee asked immediately, standing and moving towards the silent agent.

This seemed to break Gibbs' reverie. His eyes darted towards McGee, then to Ziva, and finally to Abby. They shared a look that couldn't be explained.

"Let me guess. You found records of a two week hospital stay followed by two weeks in a physical rehabilitation facility," Gibbs told more than asked, his voice hollow.

McGee and Ziva exchanged glances before Ziva answered, "Yes, he was at Mercy Hospital for the first two weeks, then at the Accelerated Rehab Center for the second two weeks. He returned to work the day after his treatment was completed."

McGee asked, "Boss? How did you know?"

Gibbs ran a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic show of stress before he answered quietly, "I knew because Ducky found a videotape inside Carrabella's body. It showed Anthony DiNozzo Senior torturing his son over the course of fifteen hours, according to the timestamps. The rules were simple: for every hour that Tony endured the abuse, he would be off-limits from his father and his corporation for a year. The second he made a noise, the deal was reached."

_Thank God it was just physical abuse. If that man had DARED touch Tony that way…if he does it this time…_

Gibbs took a deep breath and glanced at Abby, seeing more so that Tony was still missing than that Abby was occupying his desk. "I couldn't watch much either, Abby. I just skimmed it."

The Goth nodded, clutching her stuffed animal, as Gibbs headed towards his desk, sitting heavily in his chair. McGee followed his lead, practically falling into the soft material, a shocked look plastered on his face. Ziva simply turned her chair from the group, her shoulders tense as she buried her face in her hands. She didn't cry, though; she didn't feel she had that right.

"Now what?" Abby asked softly, almost scared to break the silence.

Gibbs was quiet for a split second before he surged to his feet and snarled, "Now we find the son of a bitch and we get Tony back!"

There was a sudden hustle around the bullpen as Gibbs began to snap orders. "McGee, go through every second of every camera in the Yard from yesterday morning to now and find out where the hell DiNozzo disappeared to. Check every car, every delivery truck, everything. Track every car from when it entered the Yard to when it left."

McGee nodded and jumped into action on his computer, immediately grabbing the phone. Ziva turned as Gibbs started to address her.

"Get on the damned phone and find out where this twisted dirt bag is. If he's in Chicago, I want him here. If he's not, find out where the hell he is. Track down every worker of his, everyone on his payroll in the last year, and find out what they're doing at this very minute. Call in every favor, contact everyone you can who has access to a computer." Ziva nodded immediately and pulled a locked address book from her desk and reached for her desk phone while calling up a new window on her computer.

Gibbs turned to Abby, knowing she needed to find something to do. "Abby, you get the best forensic guys from whatever department you need. Scour that garage for anything and everything that can tell us what happened while the cameras were playing loop-de-loop. I know it'll hurt, but go over that tape and find out where it that sick bastard did that. Get Ducky in there and get a timeline on the injuries – we need a timeline to work with. Go over the tape itself, too – find something that will give us a lead; a skin cell, a drop of spit, anything."

Abby nodded and jumped to her first, hesitating a moment as she took one more look at the picture on Tony's desk. "We'll find him, Abby. I promise you we will."

Abby nodded at Gibbs' words and hurried towards the elevator, her steps filled with purpose. Gibbs didn't waste any time and headed up towards the Director's office. McGee called up the stairs, "Gibbs! What do I tell the search team?"

Gibbs hollered back, "Tell them to do what they do best! Search!"

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It took him a moment to gain his bearings. He felt surprisingly comfortable; his head was free of pain, as was the rest of his body. He shifted slightly, freezing as he suddenly realized that his was suspended from the floor in a crucifix position. His arms were shackled to two separate boards, and he could feel a heavy chain wrapped around both of his ankles.

_Open your eyes, boy, or I'll start haunting your dreams as well as your waking hours!_

Swallowing tightly, Tony opened his eyes and immediately focused on the sight in front of him. A heavyset man, almost six feet tall, stood silently in front of him with fury on his face. There were bright lights all around, and the room itself was obviously some small warehouse. A camera sat on a tripod in front of him, a red light indicating that it was recording. Beside it, a foldout table boasted a variety of instruments: knives, leather straps, a box of cigars, lighters, a small length of chain, and a number of other items.

Pulling his gaze from the table, Tony directed his attention to the man in front of him. He managed just a small smile before he nodded slightly at him.

"It's been awhile," he said in greeting.

A quick punch to his jaw snapped his head back. That voice that haunted his thoughts daily, that destroyed his dreams, suddenly echoed all too eerily in his ears.

"And now it's time for another deal, young Anthony…"

Tony said nothing, but stared at the man before him, locking away the majority of himself behind walls of mental steel. There was silence and no movement as a drop of blood slipped from Tony's newly split lip to drip from his chin. The drop was quickly absorbed by his simple white t-shirt, and Tony grinned.

"Go to hell, father."

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Yay! Now we're getting into it! I had SOOOO much fun writing this chapter! (Translation: Some shrink is gonna have a lot of fun with me one day. :P)

Please R&R!!!


	4. Sticks

Title: Sacrificio

Chapter: Sticks – Chapter 4

Summary: Tony has to sacrifice everything for his team in order to save them from his family.

Categories: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Family/Friendship

A/N: Yay! More liberties!!! Some light whumping here. Not that detailed. It's gonna get better. One of the liberties I take…well, just read the secondary A/N at the end to understand.

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_Ziva stares at the blank plasma, an unreadable expression on her face. Her eyes are bright, as though she'd been crying. Reaching for the phone with no thought attached, a tear tracks down her face. She blinks, but doesn't wipe it away. She leaves it, almost as a reminder._

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It was three hours and forty five minutes since Tony had disappeared when Gibbs called a roundtable discussion in Abby's lab. McGee and Ziva fairly ran into the room; Ziva was juggling a folder, her PDA, and talking on her cell phone, while McGee was flipping through an expansive file and emailing someone on his own PDA. Abby and Ducky, along with Palmer, were combing the physical evidence from Carrabella's clothes, the videotape, evidence from the garage, and the bullets recovered from the bullpen.

"All right, what have you got?" Gibbs asked, sounding more like himself than he had all day. McGee turned and gave an appreciative sigh as he saw his boss's hands were carrying trays of coffee cups.

Passing out the beverages, Gibbs looked to Ziva first for a report. He wanted that bastard in his interrogation room, and he wanted him there an hour ago. Sensing his gaze, Ziva promptly ended her call in Arabic and jotted something on the outside of her folder before she accepted the coffee.

She took a large gulp of the precious brew before she jumped headfirst into her report.

"The DiNozzo Corporation holds no love for departments of authority. I could not find the location of DiNozzo Sr., but I did find out that he has a substantial amount of real estate holdings in the state of Virginia. He has mansions, condos, apartments, warehouses, beach houses, and probably even more that I could no find. DiNozzo Sr. has about fifteen cell phones registered to his name; one of my contacts ran GPS traces on each phone; eight of them are currently in Virginia, three of them are in the Maryland and D.C. area, two are in New York, and the last one is in Chicago."

Gibbs nodded and said, "Call some of the departments in Maryland, Chicago, and D.C. and get them to run traces one those phones and physically find out where they are. We'll have Abby run the ones in Virginia. Then keep trying to find the father. If he isn't in Chicago then I bet he's in Virginia."

Ziva nodded and headed out of the lab immediately. McGee flipped his PDA closed and opened the file, knowing he was expected to report next.

"I created a program to help me run through the extensive video feeds from the Naval Yard. It tracks cars and reads their plates; any cars that are running on visitor passes won't be in our systems, and my program will tag them. I'm also running a secondary trace on the video loop alteration from the garage feed. Hopefully, with two traces, it'll take less time to find out where the program came from."

Gibbs glared at the agent, who suddenly said, "Oh, and I have a bunch of techs from one of our sister agencies running through all the footage too, so if a car licensed for Naval Yard use is involved, they'll see it, too. I'm just trying to cover every base as quickly as possible."

Gibbs pointed towards the door and ordered, "Get up there and check all of the delivery trucks, too. We can't rule anything out."

McGee snatched his coffee from the desk and practically sprinted out of the room. Drawing deeply from his coffee, Gibbs turned towards Abby and the two medical professionals, hiding a smile as the lab tech sucked happily on one of the three Caf-Pows he'd brought her.

"What did you guys find?"

Abby immediately began to gesture with her hands, her actions showing Gibbs even before she spoke that she had found something.

"Okay, so I went over Carrabella's clothes and the surface of the tape with a fine toothed comb. The tape had nothing, unfortunately – the timestamp on it doesn't tell us anything other than elapsed time, and the tape itself is untraceable because of its age."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, waiting. Abby saw his look and she grinned widely.

"But…we did recover some very interesting trace from the clothing. There was a drop of something on the inside cuff of the cardigan sweater. I put it through Major Mass Spec and he told me that the drop contains a mixture of water, eicosapentaenoic and docosahexaenoic acid, and a combination of hydrocarbons, antioxidants, and metal deactivators."

Gibbs cocked his head slightly, not even bothering trying to comprehend.

"It's aviation fuel and fish oil, Gibbs! That can significantly narrow down where we look!" Abby spouted happily.

Gibbs' silent question was obvious. "So I looked around, coupling Ziva's research with what the mass spec found, and I came up with a few possibilities. DiNozzo Corporation holds several different private hangars, a few airstrips, two fishing fleets, and a shipping facility."

"Then go tell McGee the name of that shipping company and have him check if any trucks registered to that company made shipments to the Naval Yard. And tell Ziva to crosscheck all the buildings you found with the cells she found. If any of them match up, give me a call immediately."

Abby nodded and took two steps towards the door before suddenly turning and hugging Gibbs tightly. He wasn't surprised; he knew the work was taxing her more than she wanted to admit. "We're going to find him, right, Gibbs?"

The older agent wrapped one arm around her shoulders, the other hand preoccupied with his coffee, and he nodded as he rested his chin on her hair. "We'll find him, Abby. I promise."

A few seconds was all Abby needed to compose herself. She pulled away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she started towards the elevator. She paused and looked back as Gibbs said, "Abs…I promise."

A small but genuine smile spread over her face, and she quickly left the room. Gibbs watched her go, his own words echoing in his mind. _You'd better be alive when I find you, DiNozzo, or I'm going to kill you._

Turning towards his long time friend, Gibbs nodded towards the plasma screen, which currently showed a paused tape. With the two wide and snowy lines, Gibbs could barely see anything, a fact he was grateful for.

"Ducky, what're we looking at?"

The other man sighed deeply and turned to Palmer. "Mr. Palmer, would you be so kind to go see if Abby needs any help upstairs?"

Palmer nodded silently and walked from the room, his eyes low and stress obvious in his eyes. Ducky waited several seconds before he softly said, "Oh Jethro…we may lose the boy this time."

Gibbs felt his throat tighten, and he simply let the older man continue, watching as he consulted every now and then from a legal pad.

"The elder DiNozzo was diagnosed when he was a child with Intermittent Explosive Disorder. This disorder is characterized by specific episodes of violence and uncontrolled anger, usually directed towards objects, but can be directed towards individual persons. Each person has their own triggers, but Mr. DiNozzo seems to have exacerbated his symptoms by refusing chemical support and psychotherapy and by engaging in rampant drug use and alcoholism. His disorder has remained as dangerous as before, but there is very little 'intermittence' involved anymore. Instead, it seems to control the entirety of his personality. Then there's the rather unfortunate part," Ducky segued, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

"There's a more unfortunate part than what you just told me, Ducky?" Gibbs asked, slightly disturbed.

It seemed to take a great deal of effort for the examiner to speak again. "Young Anthony seems to have been at the brunt of his father's anger for most of his life, brought in part, no doubt, from the fact that he did not have the same mental deficiencies his father did. The anger is no doubt born from jealousy. This kind of anger is directed towards everyone, but the specialized bouts of rage and fury are directed towards his only son."

Gibbs hid his unease behind another swallow of coffee. Finally, he nodded his head towards the screen. "What did you figure out from the tape?"

Ducky turned towards the plasma and said, "Unfortunately, being as this appears to be his only victim, and the only record we have of it, we cannot draw an accurate timeline from the video. Depending on his rage, DiNozzo Sr. may torture him for an hour and let him go or torture him for days and leave him to die."

A panting voice behind the two drew their immediate attentions. "Gibbs, you've got an anonymous e-mail with a video attachment!" McGee's heavy breathing told the two older men that the tech had run down the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator.

Without a word, Gibbs and Ducky followed him back up to the bullpen, the silence telling. Gibbs walked to his desk, unsurprised to find Ziva and Abby standing nearby, waiting. McGee stood next to the plasma screen.

Tossing his empty cup into the trashcan, Gibbs sat at his desk and looked at the e-mail's subject line, his stomach churning and threatening to rebel as he read the simple words.

"The Rules and Game One"

Looking up at his team, Gibbs finally clicked on the attachment, watching as McGee clicked a button on the plasma, directing the video feed to the larger screen. Gibbs turned in his chair and stayed seated as they all held their breath, watching the screen carefully.

As the scene started to lighten from black, Gibbs had the feeling he was going to regret drinking so much coffee that morning. It was going to hurt like a bitch coming back up.

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Tony blinked hard against the bright lights as he felt the effects of his father's second punch. He felt long-subdued memories rushing back, threatening to overwhelm his mental walls, so he fortified them with thoughts of those he considered his real family.

"What do you want now, you bastard?" Tony bit out, his eyes still closed.

He was mildly relieved when he wasn't hit again. But the other man's words started to turn his core into a ball of icy knots.

"Your fifteen years are up, young Anthony. And I think I've come up with a deal that you won't be able to refuse."

The grating voice, partially disguised by the thick accent that Tony had been used to haunting him, echoed strangely in the metal room. Tony grinned widely and looked up at the man, ignoring the protest his split lip offered.

"Unless you're going to hand me a gun and release my hands, I don't give a rat's ass what your deal is," he fairly spat.

Accustomed to the fury that always painted his father's face, Tony was unprepared for the sharp grin that suddenly worked over the other man's features.

"I'm going to be easy on you, little bastard. Before, I had nothing on your but your own sense of self-preservation. Now, though, you've messed up. You've gotten weak. You've adopted a new family, haven't you, son?"

Tony felt the blood drain from his face as denial faded on his tongue. He should have known better. Of course his father knew about the team. Seeing the unspoken defeat on Tony's face, his father laughed cruelly.

"Good boy – don't fight it. So, here's the new deal. I took the liberty of drawing names from a hat while you got back a little strength after your little bit of blood loss."

Tony hadn't missed the clean white bandages over the deep cuts on his right wrist and arm, and he had immediately noticed the dark bruising on the crook of his left elbow where he had undoubtedly been given a blood transfusion.

With a relish, DiNozzo Sr. waved a piece of paper in front of Tony's face, a disturbing smile marring his appearance.

"I have you for the next seven hours, little Anthony. I wrote down seven names and I drew them from a hat," he explained, his voice almost giddy.

Tony felt the dread building up in his gut, but he said nothing.

"So, here it is. You have seven names. You have seven hours. I'll show you the usual hospitality you've proved yourself worthy of during each hour. If you make a noise during any of that time, then you'll forfeit that hour's target."

Tony bit his tongue, pouring all of his hatred into his eyes as he glared at the man in front of him.

"Here's the first one: Shannon and Kelly Gibbs."

Tony blinked in confusion, drawing on what little he'd learned of his boss's family. "But, they're dead."

His words were blunt, but honest.

The elder DiNozzo grinned and nodded. "Yes, that they are. Murdered, actually, when your beloved Supervisory Special Agent Gibbs was away in Desert Storm. So, here's game one. You don't make a sound, and I'll do two things. One, I won't dig up their bodies and leave them on Gibbs' doorstep."

Tony grit his teeth, biting back his words. "And two, I'll send him the name of the man who killed them. They never found him, you know. Think of the kind of closure that would bring him."

Tony mulled his thoughts for a moment before asking, "Who else is on the list?"

His father practically drooled as he pocketed the list. "No, no, no, little Anthony. You know the rules. One per hour. That's what you get."

It took just half a second for Tony to make up his mind. It took even less time for him to finish hiding the most intimate parts of himself behind years and years of masks and lies.

Looking up, he grinned and snapped, "What are you waiting for, you bastard? If you don't hurry up, Gibbs is going to find us and kick your ass before you even have a chance to get started."

His words did nothing to deter his father. Instead, the malicious gleam only grew bigger. "You're absolutely right, Anthony. I suppose we should start, shouldn't we?"

Turning, he immediately picked up a two inch wide leather strap from the table, smiling as he turned it over, revealing a deeply salted and coarsely cut underside. Walking behind his son, DiNozzo Sr. whispered fiercely in his ear, "Remember, not a sound. Or your beloved mentor will wake up one day to find his dead wife and daughter, rotten and eaten away, sitting and waiting for him at the dining room table. And he'll never know who killed them in the first place."

Nodding his head silently, Tony began repeating a mantra in his head, knowing from previous experience that such a thing may be the only thing holding him together at the end of the seven games.

_Not a sound. Not a sound. Not a sound._

The first blow to his back was uncharacteristically soft. But Tony knew from experience that as time went on, his father's rage would build, and each individual blow would be completely devastating.

Tony forced his muscles to relax, letting his weight rest on the chains that held his arms. The second hit was a little rougher, burning the skin directly atop his kidneys. Tony closed his eyes and began to chew on his lip, repeating his mantra continuously. The strap fell again and again, the rough leather and coarse salt beginning to tear at his back with startling accuracy.

A sudden bought of anger must have grasped his father's mind, because the blows suddenly became frenzied and furious. Tony clenched his fists as the belt came down on his back with increasing frequency and strength.

_Snap!_ Across his shoulders. _Snap!_ Down the length of his spine. _Snap!_ Across his neck.

Tony kept his tongue in check, but began to silently mouth words, his breath leaving him sharply at each bite.

_Snap!_ For Shannon. _Snap!_ For Kelly. _Snap!_ For Gibbs.

_Snap!_ For Gibbs.

_Snap!_ For Gibbs.

He wasn't sure how long the beating lasted, but he exhaled deeply as he heard his father walk back around to the table. He kept his eyes closed as he focused on damage assessment. Blood was trickling down his back, and the large salt crystals were rubbing at his nerves. From the breeze he could feel, his shirt was ripped open in several places, though the cool breeze felt good against his burning skin. Again, from previous experience, he knew that the welts and bruises were superficial and painful only; they wouldn't cause any lasting damage.

"You're doing well, Anthony. I'm surprised you're doing so much to keep a couple of corpses from being defiled."

The words echoed around the large room, and Tony muttered, "Yeah, well, last I knew, you were a businessman, not a grave robber. Just trying to keep you honest."

DiNozzo Sr. merely laughed, a laugh that took on a slightly maniacal tone after a few seconds. Tony knew the rules from last time. He could talk as long as he wasn't currently at the mercy of the 'hospitality' of his father.

He opened his eyes and turned his gaze warily to the table. His father was messing with something he couldn't see. It took him a moment to realize that his vision was blurry because his eyes were watering. Blinking away the moisture, Tony focused on the tool his father had picked up, then swallowed hard as he felt a knot the size of a pool ball sink in his gut.

"Think you can keep quiet for another forty minutes, little Anthony?" his father laughed, brandishing a lit cigar.

Tony fought back childhood memories. His father had discovered his fear of fire when he was six, and he had nursed that fear whenever he could, often burning him with cigarettes, cigars, and periodically just using a lighter. Swallowing heavily yet again, Tony repeated his mantra.

_Not a sound. Not a sound. Not a sound._

Raising his eyes to his father's demented figure, Tony dropped his usually bravado and simply promised, "I'm going to kill you one day."

DiNozzo Sr. just smiled. "It won't be today, little Anthony," he whispered before bringing the lit tip to Tony's neck.

It was all Tony could do to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he took deep and ragged breaths through clenched teeth, screwing his eyes shut tightly. The pain moved, then, from his neck to his forearm, from his forearm to his palm, and then suddenly back to his neck. Tony concentrated on clenching and unclenching his fists in time, counting down the last forty minutes of the hour.

Time suddenly grew incongruous to Tony as he came in and out of consciousness, the pain mounting at each awakening. He kept a constant hold of his tongue with his teeth, though, forcing himself to be silent even in the grips of pain. He was conscious of the changing of tools; there was the belt and cigar, then a knife, a riding crop soaked in alcohol, a light and thin chain that cut through his skin and left thin red streaks over his chest.

By the time the hour was over, his shirt was in red tatters on the floor and his torso was bathed in blood. The knife had cut deep into his face, from his left eyebrow to his ear, allowing a waterfall of blood to seep through the wound. It started clotting as the hour wore down, and, fortunately, that was the worst damage he'd sustained. The rest of his wounds were superficial, though the burn marks would need specialized attention, and soon, before they began festering and getting infected.

But all Tony could care about was that Gibbs would know who killed his family. Raising his eyes as his father leaned against the table, an amused expression on his face, Tony spit out a bit of acrid saliva that tasted suspiciously like copper.

"Well, you bastard, the first hour is over. What the hell's the name?" he demanded, fully focused on that piece of information.

DiNozzo Sr. grinned as he wiped his hands with a clean silk handkerchief. "The man's name is Jonas Robinson. He was incarcerated for killing his drug dealer and died of AIDS-related pneumonia in prison four years ago."

If DiNozzo Sr. was expecting the information to break Tony's spirit, he was sorely mistaken. Instead, the federal agent grinned, wincing slightly as his torn face protested, and laughed softly.

"Now that's closure. And now I don't have to worry about Gibbs going to jail for murder. Thanks, _dad_," Tony snapped, content in the knowledge and knowing his father wouldn't lie in that instance.

DiNozzo Sr. faltered for a moment at Tony's words, and the younger man leaned back against his bonds, breathing deeply through the pain.

"What's game number two?"

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The screen went blank and Gibbs stayed still, speechless. The team had muted the clip and continued their research, though their eyes had never strayed from the plasma for more than 15 seconds at a time. The last three minutes of the clip, though, they'd gathered back around the plasma and listened to the short conversation. The clip over, however, it was time to get back to work.

"McGee, Ziva, you guys have ten minutes to get me something solid to run with. I'm going to go see if Abby has anything. Trace this damned email and find out where it came from. And if you've got time…check out the story on Robinson. See if he's telling the truth."

There were nods all around, but before he could get to the elevator, McGee suddenly called, "Wait! We…I think we have a problem."

Gibbs froze and turned, the dark look on his face speaker volumes even in his temporary silence. "What exactly would that be, McGee?"

McGee looked from his computer to his irate boss.

"I was looking at the background sound on this video, boss. I know that's usually Abby's job, but she's busy with trace and I just had a hunch that –"

"WHAT is it, McGee?" Gibbs barked, his voice lowering in volume as he asked.

The computer wizard looked down at his computer. "Based on the pattern of sounds in the background, as well as the slight shifting of the angles, this wasn't filmed on land. This was filmed on a boat. A large tanker or transoceanic barge, more than likely. None of the cell phones Ziva tracked down showed any were near the water. The DiNozzo Corporation has six oil tankers in its employ and it subcontracts forty other similar sized ships. And they're all based in the North Atlantic."

Gibbs resisted the urge to break something.

"What are you saying, McGee?"

Ziva and McGee both turned decidedly white. "What I'm saying, boss, is that he could be on any one of those tankers, given the fact that we could have used a boat to get to the closer ones or used a helo to get to the more distant ones. By the time we find the ship he's on…it would take us at least 48 hours to search all of them."

Gibbs turned on his heel and made his way towards the elevator again. "Then I suggest you find a way to narrow down the options, McGee."

Ziva said nothing, having been silent since the clip had started over an hour before, and she turned her eyes towards the screen as she blindly reached for the phone. A single tear tracked down her cheek, and she didn't bother to wipe it away.

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Okay, so I took a HUGE liberty with Gibbs' past. I know they were murdered while he was in Desert Storm, but they never really say if the guy was caught or not. So I decided he wasn't. And I decided it was a he, too. :D Hope you guys liked it!!!

**THERE WILL NOT BE AN UPDATE APRIL 1st**. No, this isn't an April Fool's Joke. It's my 21st birthday today and I generally only post a chapter when I have the following one finished, so that I don't get behind. I'm breaking that rule, however, because I want people to give me los of good reviews as my birthday present to me! In the very off chance I DO post April 1st, just enjoy it and don't ask questions. :D


	5. Stones

Title: Sacrificio

Chapter: Stones – Chapter 5

Summary: Tony has to sacrifice everything for his team in order to save them from his family.

Categories: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Family/Friendship

A/N: OKAY OKAY OKAY! I GET IT! I've gotten almost a dozen reviews and PMs regarding Gibbs' history and the whole murder thing. I missed it, clean and clear, and I shouldn't have. BUT…I'm not going to change it. I delve in fiction because it's different from reality. I'd much rather think Gibbs as a stoic military sniper who takes the unfortunate circumstances of life without resorting to illegal activity, rather than as a vigilante who exacts his own revenge, in the process ridding a family of their father, more than likely. So thanks for the heads up, sorry for the flaw, and hope you guys don't mind, but it's not going to be changed. It's too..non-Gibbs-like, IMO.

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His father's words burned in his ears, echoing through the room, taunting him with their varied repetitions. Clenching his eyes shut, Tony let out a choked sob, reliving the horror of that day over again.

"You son of a bitch!" he whispered, his anger practically dripping from his tongue.

The other man was unrepentant. "Yes, well, that's life, isn't it? Are you ready for the second game? Are you ready to save Miss Todd's decorated corpse from being deposited at NCIS headquarters?"

Tony groaned as he felt the blood on his face chill his skin; it was eerily reminiscent to the day Kate had been shot, the bullet splattering her warm blood across his face. But he knew he couldn't fail Kate. He'd already failed her once before, and he'd be damned if he did it again.

Hanging his head, Tony just said, "You've got 59 minutes left."

The glee on his father's face was disturbing. Watching the man who'd been partially responsible for bringing him into this world, Tony assessed him, slightly shocked at his own thoughts.

_This is my father. The man torturing me is my father. He's beaten me, allowed his friends to beat and rape me, and he's responsible for every single psychological problem I acknowledge I have. This is my father._

As he saw the tool in the other man's hand, Tony immediately shifted his thoughts to his ongoing internalized mantra.

_Not a sound. Not a sound. Not a sound._

When the small electric taser touched his skin, he was prepared. He'd been well acquainted with them during his childhood; one of his father's 'friends' was almost as keen on causing physical pain as he was to gain sexual release. So he kept his teeth clenched, his tongue safe at the back of his throat, and did nothing to fight the spasms of muscles as the current flowed across his body.

When the contact points finally were drawn away, Tony breathed out deeply, understanding that there was more to come. He couldn't stop the tears from tracking down his face, however, as he thought of Kate.

_I have to do this for Kate. I have to keep quiet for Kate._

Then the points touched him again and his mind was lost in the agony of keeping silent. After a few times, Tony finally understood the pattern. He was tased for ten seconds and left alone for two minutes. He quickly did the calculations in his head.

_I've got about 25 hits left. I have to keep quiet that long. For Kate._

He halfway hoped that his father would choose to change tools in the middle of the hour, his fear of the repeated shocks warring with his fear of whatever tool may next be implemented.

He was shocked again, his thoughts literally fried from conscious thought, and he tensed and bucked involuntarily against the chains that held him.

_Twenty._

The hits came again and again, eventually stealing his ability to think coherently. Still, he counted. And when he wasn't counting, he was repeating his mantra.

_Seventeen. Not a sound. Not a sound. Not a sound. _

_Sixteen. Not a sound. Not a sound. Not a sound. _

_Fifteen._

When the last shock was finally delivered, it took Tony a moment to realize it. In between his efforts to stay silent and his attempts to control his trembling muscles in the wake of the taser's hits, he had managed to lose count.

Coughing deeply as a spasm worked its way across his chest, Tony opened his eyes and tried to ignore the deep bone-set ache that permeated his senses. Atop that deeper ache was the burning fire of where the contacts had met his skin. His father hadn't been discriminate. It felt like every part of his upper torso was covered with the fine welts, and, thinking back to his childhood, Tony found himself sending a silent prayer of thanks that his father hadn't decided to combine physical and sexual abuse.

Breathing deeply, Tony allowed a small, self-satisfied smile to grace his features. "What's the next game, father?"

If he was expecting the older man to be disappointed with the utter lack of results from the previous hour's torture, Tony was instead the one to be let down. DiNozzo Sr. merely grabbed a scalpel from the table; Tony guessed this hour's target before his father even spoke.

"Your medical examiner, you call him Ducky, don't you, young Anthony?" The pure curiosity in the elder DiNozzo's inwardly startled Tony.

"Yeah. His last name's Mallard. It's not a stretch."

The pure boredom in Tony's voice belied his inherent fear of the tool before him. For obvious reasons, he was terrified of anything and everything to do with medicine. Ducky was the only person he'd allow to conduct his mandatory semiannual physicals. His father seemed relatively unbothered by Tony's lack of psychological response to the torture he'd undergone.

But a quick and honest assessment of the other man had Tony begging for Gibbs' to find him. His father's shoulders were tense, his eyes dark yet controlled, and the muscles in his hands were tight enough that the knuckles were constantly white. Tony knew that look all too well – he'd become well acquainted with this silent and dark aspect of his father a long time ago.

It almost didn't surprise him, then, when DiNozzo Sr. suddenly turned and plunged the medical knife into Tony's open right palm, pinning it to the board, embedding the blade.

Almost didn't surprise him.

Choking back the cry of pain and shock, Tony turned his eyes towards the floor, breathing harshly and desperately trying to control his reaction. Rule of silence or no, Tony didn't want to give his father the satisfaction of seeing the extent of his pain. It didn't help matters that his body was still jerking every several seconds in the aftershock of the taser torture.

Looking up through slit eyes as he managed to control the pain, Tony snapped at his father, "What's this for? You didn't even tell me. Don't tell me you forgot your own rules."

Upon catching sight of his father's incensed glare, Tony could practically hear Gibbs' voice in his head; _Damn it, DiNozzo! How many times have I told you? Don't bait the bad guys!_

It was his nature, though. If he was going out, he was going to make sure his captors damn well remembered him.

The heavy slap to the damaged side of his face hurt more than he expected it to, but he stayed silent.

"Of course not, stupid boy! This hour is to save your precious Ducky from having an unfortunate accident on his way home one night. You know how those old restored antiques can be – brake lines can fail and leaky gas tanks, shorted wires…you never know."

The pure malicious anger in his father's face angered Tony more than he thought possible. He was used to this anger being directed at him. It was his friends – no, his family – that was the target this time. And he wasn't sure if he could stand it much longer.

"Yeah, well, at least we know that won't happen, now, don't we?"

DiNozzo Sr. just smiled and said in a sickeningly sweet voice, "We won't know that for another hour, will we, Anthony?"

Tony grinned widely, some of his usual bravado returning as his anger blocked out some of the pain. "Oh ye of little faith. You think I can't stay quiet, father?"

Shrugging, the other man pulled a small clear box from the table, its contents catching the light with startling silver clarity. Gritting his teeth, Tony looked at the hundred or so heavy gauge sewing needles with no small amount of trepidation. He was determined, though, not to let it show on his face.

"Get on with it, then. I haven't got all day."

His father abruptly grinned and his mood shifted from aloof to deadly in a half second. "As you wish, little Anthony."

A thimble large enough to fit the stocky man's finger suddenly appeared in his hand, and he wasted no time in embedding the first of many needles as deeply as he dared into Tony's exposed forearm. His eyes shut, Tony tried to picture himself in Ducky's lab, sitting on one of the autopsy tables at the receiving end of one of the hated injections he was forced to endure every other week in an effort to prevent his body from succumbing to a recurrence of the Y. Pestis bug.

The mental image worked for the first few sticks.

One needle was suddenly shoved through one of his existing cigar burns, the pain forcing Tony's eyes open as he inhaled sharply. Seeing his reaction, DiNozzo Sr. decided to concentrate solely on the burns he'd inflicted, though he had the presence of mind to avoid the tender spots on his victim's neck.

_Not a sound._

The mantra became harder and harder to rely on, however, as the pain kept coming, time and again. He knew tears were tracking steadily down his face, but he didn't care. He had no pride when it came to his father. He could care less if he broke down in front of the man. But for Ducky's sake, for everyone's sake, he would do it silently.

So when the last needle entered his skin, when the small clear box was obviously empty, Tony allowed a single sob to bleed through. DiNozzo Sr. stepped back, a highly amused expression on his face. He set the box down and leaned against the table, crossing his arms as he watched his son with a half smile on his face.

For Tony's part, though, it was taking all of his effort to keep his anguish hidden. The needles would have been bearable, had it not been for the fact that his burns had been targeted. The combined pain of the burn and the cutting action of the needle had worn down his defenses considerably.

Still, he raised his sarcastic gaze to his father. "That it? I think you still have about forty five minutes left."

His constant tirade of scorn was beginning to break through his father's cool exterior. With a snarl, the heavyset man leapt forward and wrapped a beefy hand around Tony's abused throat.

Startled and choking, Tony locked eyes with his father, willing the other man to see his generally pissed off mood.

"You listen, boy, and you listen good. You're nothing, you hear me? I've been beating that into you since day one and you STILL haven't gotten that yet."

To accentuate his point, DiNozzo Sr. reached over and savagely tore out one of the needles protruding from Tony's arm. He pulled it sharply with a downward angle, causing more damage as he pulled it from the younger man's abused flesh.

"You're nothing," he snarled, his grip on Tony's throat increasing with the words. He ripped another needle, this one from a chest burn.

"You're pathetic. You're worthless. You can't do anything right!"

Each insult was emphasized by a quick tightening of his grip and by another needle being angrily snatched from his body. Tony fought his panic as his scarred lungs cried for more air, the pain of the pressure on his neck burns and the multiple agonies from the needles battering his air intake even more. All the while, his father repeated the same insults he'd been hearing for the better part of almost forty years.

He became dizzy and disoriented from the lack of oxygen, his gaze never leaving his father's face. Tony absently began to focus on the words he was hearing and the pain he was feeling, unknowingly repeating what he was being told in a whispered voice, for his ears only.

"Your team hates you!" Another stab of pain.

"_They all hate me."_

"Nobody cares if you live or die!" A needle was ripped from his chest.

"_They want me to die."_

"They'll never come find you!" A needle disappeared from his left palm, a quick spurt of blood following it.

"_They don't want to find me."_

The words continued, burying themselves deeper into Tony's conscious and subconscious thought that any of his father's words had ever managed. And for as long as he could remember, what felt like all the years he'd been alive, his entire world became anger, fear, pain, and abandonment.

He didn't know he'd passed out until he woke up. He opened his eyes quickly, unknown terror driving him, and he winced visibly as he came face to face with his father's leering face.

"Finally woke up, did you, you selfish brat? Think I have time to kill? Huh? Only ever think about yourself!"

Shrinking back as far as he could, Tony immediately and unintentionally reverted to his childhood mannerisms, hoping to placate the beast before him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, unsure why his throat hurt.

The feral grin on DiNozzo Sr.'s face showed perfectly white and even teeth.

"Not yet, you're not. But I'm going to do my best to make sure you never bother me again! This next punishment is to save your geek friend, Timothy McGee. Or Thom E. Gemcity. Whichever you prefer."

Tony was confused for a moment before a bit of memory returned to him, hazy and obfuscated. _Save…save them. Not a sound. No matter what. I can't make a sound._

With that little bit of logic lodged in his brain, Tony clung to it like a madman. He felt he could barely remember his own name, but he knew, _he knew_, with everything he was, that he had to stay quiet. Otherwise, he would fail. And DiNozzo's didn't fail. They didn't.

And that was the thought that tied his tongue as a cascade of icy saltwater suddenly poured from the ceiling, drenching him immediately from head to toe. The burning of the salt couldn't cancel out the iciness of the water, and neither could the cold water stop the salt from burning.

Tony struggled to get a deep breath as the water continued to fall over him. He felt each cut, each mark, each burn suddenly come alive under the torrent, and he was suddenly grateful from the fact that his tears couldn't be discerned under the spray. He tried to duck his head to block the water enough to catch his breath when he noticed a change to his confinement.

A chain about the thickness of his thumb was wrapped around his neck, the loop doubled around his throat, the end of it snaking up somewhere to the ceiling. With the rusty length attached, Tony couldn't drop his head to take a breath, and a familiar panic returned to him.

So he kept his face forward, his body trembling under the onslaught, his skin alternating between hot and cold as he breathed laboriously through the spray. He inhaled the saltwater a few times, the taste of it reminding him of fresh tuna, and the resulting coughing fits had tightened the chain around his neck.

He didn't know how long the water had thundered down around him, disappearing into large draining grates the size of a tractor trailer, but Tony found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He heard voices he knew, but couldn't quite identify. He heard someone telling him to scream, but three words in his own voice stopped him.

_Not a sound. Not a sound. Not a sound._

So he stayed quiet. As the water finally ceased, Tony took a deep shuddering breath, feeling a terrifying and all-too-painfully familiar ache deep in his chest. Cracking open his eyes and seeing the man he hated more than himself, Tony merely held his gaze for a few seconds before passing out.

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"Gibbs! Gibbs, look at your cell phone!"

The voice that echoed over the Coast Guard chopper's headset startled the agent. He had been so involved with his own thoughts of self-loathing that he'd almost forgotten that the Mossad officer was riding next to him.

"What?" he shouted unnecessarily into the headset.

"Abby sent me a message, telling me to tell you to look at your cell phone! She thinks she knows where he is!" Ziva called back, gesturing impatiently to the man's pocket.

Gibbs nodded and pulled the normally hated piece of technology. Now, though, if it did deliver news he needed to hear, he'd have the thing buried with him.

Flipping the cover open, Gibbs squinted and read the text message that immediately displayed on his screen.

"Another video. Camera was panned out – won't tell you why. Got a tracking number on the side of a wall. The factory fish processor Pesci dall'Alba. The third ship on your list. Bring him home. – Abby."

Gibbs grinned widely and handed the phone to Ziva as he leaned forward.

"Skip the first two ships! Head to the third target, the Pesci dall'Alba. She's a factory ship, a fish processing vessel. Don't let her know we're coming. Just drop this damn thing on the deck the second you can!" Gibbs ordered, his eyes tracking around the cockpit.

"Yes sir, Agent Gibbs. Our ETA from the Pesci dall'Alba is forty five minutes," the co-pilot's voice came over the radio.

Gibbs slapped his shoulder and responded, "Make it forty minutes and I'll make sure you guys get dinner with the President!"

"Of NCIS?" the pilot asked, grinning slightly as they altered course.

"No, the President of the United States!"

Looking over at Ziva, Gibbs saw a relieved but concerned look on her face. He knew his mirrored hers. They had found him, but it had been almost eight hours since the first video had been sent. They had no way of knowing how long exactly he'd been tortured. They had no way of knowing if he was even alive. They only knew they had to find him and bring him home.

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"We're running out of time, boy. You keep passing out. That's not nice, you know. You're such a disappointment."

The words filtered through Tony's mind as he slowly rose back to some semblance of consciousness. Opening his eyes blearily, Tony was harshly reminded of his last punishment. The world was still altered, hallucinations and sounds dancing in front of him. One demon drew closer, making Tony shrink backwards with a whimper.

"That dose of LSD really screwed with your mind, didn't it, boy?" Tony winced as the demon laughed a guttural bark, fire dancing from eyes he couldn't bear to look at.

"LSD is a psychedelic hallucinogen. It manifests hidden but real aspects of the mind. What do you see me as, boy?"

Pulling back even more, struggling against the tight chain that was looped around his neck, Tony whispered, "You're a demon. There's fire."

The laugh came again, terrifying the depths of Tony's soul. But he had no more tears to shed.

"You've impressed me, little Anthony. You didn't scream while you dreamed, awake but unaware. I wanted you to scream!"

Tony shook his head and closed his eyes.

"Not a sound. Not a sound."

The whispered mantra escaped his lips, and he ignored the harsh shivers echoing through his body.

"That's right, boy. You've saved people, you know that? You've saved your little Goth friend and your foreign partner in the last hour. I had to cut down the time – you aren't a good sport when you're asleep."

Tony didn't open his eyes, instead content to whisper his mantra and block out the demon and fire and all the squares and triangles crawling on the floor.

"Gibbs."

The name caused Tony to freeze and bite his tongue. He couldn't remember anything. Nothing existed before the demon in front of him. But he knew that name. He knew it. And he had to protect it.

"That's right. Your surrogate father. Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Tony opened his eyes, then. The demon was still there, pacing amongst the many dancing shapes.

"What are you willing to do to save him?"

Tony answered automatically, not sure of his reasoning but sure of his answer.

"Anything."

The fire burned from the demon's mouth, but Tony was suddenly unafraid. This one name, this one person, whoever he was, was chasing away the fear.

"I am really going to enjoy this, son."

Tony just smiled slightly and closed his eyes. Even if his limbs hadn't been chained up away from his body, he would have welcomed the punishment with open arms.

"For Gibbs."

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HA HA HA HA HA!!! CLIFFY!!! Sorry it took me so long to get this one up. I got a little distracted with something else. Anywho, hope you guys like okay! There are only gonna be a few more chapters to this, maybe 2, maybe 3, but I hope it's been going okay! Thanks for sticking with me! R&R!!!


	6. Broken

Title: Sacrificio

Chapter: Broken – Chapter 6

Summary: Tony has to sacrifice everything for his team in order to save them from his family.

Categories: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Family/Friendship

A/N: Well, I could give some lame excuse as to why I took so long updating…but then I'd feel guilty. So instead, I'll just say that I gave birth to my son Daniel in late July and I've been adapting to motherhood, no sleep, and absolutely no computer time as best I can. Now, though, I've gotten Daniel in somewhat of a schedule, so I now have computer time! Thank God! Thanks for keeping with me and I hope that my writing hasn't suffered too much in my long hiatus. Please enjoy!

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Whatever mixture of emotions was flowing through Gibbs was too convoluted to interpret. There was worry, of course, and an unhealthy dose of anger. But there was some deeper undercurrent there, something he couldn't quite figure out. While he didn't know what it was, however, he knew where he felt it flowing from.

His gut.

And Leroy Jethro Gibbs always listened to his gut.

So when the helicopter started its final descent, Gibbs didn't wait. He tossed off his headset and threw open the sliding door, leaping from the unmarked bird. He landed on the pad and rolled quickly to his feet, the Marine in him relishing the old-fashioned dust-off exit. He heard Ziva right on his six, and an ache in his chest told him how monumentally wrong that was.

_It's supposed to be DiNozzo watching my back. It's always DiNozzo._

Gibbs suddenly caught sight of a large burly man stalking towards him in dingy grey overalls. Unconcerned, the agent headed towards him, not bothering to pull his badge. They met at the edge of the pad as the helicopter set down behind them.

"What the hell are you thinking? You didn't call in for landing authorization – I ought to have the Coast Guard haul you in!" the shipman snarled, reeking of fish.

Gibbs stared hard at him and snapped over the lowering whine of the helo's blades, "Who the hell do you think brought us out here?"

The shipman glanced over his shoulder and shock shone through his eyes as he saw three Coast Guard medics step from the black, unassuming chopper.

"Now, where's my agent?" Gibbs growled, stepping closer to the slightly shorter man.

The confusion and question in the shipman's eyes were genuine.

"What do you mean? What agent? We're a fishing vessel, not a military vessel!" the greasy man responded quickly.

Gibbs didn't care for his answer and grabbed him by the coveralls, hauling him close and to his toes with one hand.

"We're from NCIS and the CEO of the company that owns this vessel has kidnapped one of my agents and brought him here. Now I am only going to ask one more time," Gibbs promised, his voice dropping as he pulled his SIG. "Where the hell is my agent?"

The shipman held up his hands helplessly as he stuttered, "I don't know! A private helo landed this morning, but they had proper authorization. All my crew has been up on deck preparing for a midnight harvest."

Gibbs quickly asked, "Has there been any strange activity on the ship that any of your crew has noticed? Anything out of the ordinary?"

The shipman hesitated as he thought, then suddenly said, "An hour or two ago one of our portside live well controls suffered a computer glitch; the entire tank was emptied into a lower cooling tank."

Not bothering to holster his SIG, Gibbs started walking towards the portside stairway, following his instincts. He half-dragged, half-pulled the shipman behind him as he walked, his mind racing.

"You get all of your crew topside and to the bow. Get this ship headed back towards the coast, full speed. How many on the helo when it landed?" Gibbs grilled.

The shipman was already pulling his walkie.

"There were four, and they were supporting one," he answered as he keyed his mike.

Gibbs absently heard him relaying the instructions as he turned to Ziva.

"You're with me. And you guys," he addressed the medics who were still following them, "Stay topside. We'll get you when we've cleared the situation."

There were nods all around and Ziva drew her own SIG as she followed Gibbs down a set of stairs that he had invariably led them to.

Gibbs took the first level of stairs quickly and efficiently, not bothering to clear the area as he went. He knew that with only four suspects and the element of surprise, he wouldn't need to worry about an ambush, not at the first stairway, anyways.

As they neared the second stairway, however, his steps slowed and he brought his weapon to the ready. He heard Ziva behind him and was again struck by the wrongness of the situation.

_You'd better be alive, DiNozzo…_

"He will be, Gibbs. He's Tony," Ziva quietly said, making Gibbs realize that he'd spoken aloud.

Not responding to her words, Gibbs stalked down the deserted and narrow hallways, following that feeling that flowed through him. Abby had commented numerous times on Gibbs' ability to know what to do and where to go in any situation. Most put it down to his training in the Marines, especially that somewhat creepy way he always managed to sneak up on everyone.

Whatever it was, it started to ring violently in his head as they approached a closed bulkhead. Slowing immediately, Gibbs took a position on one side of the door while Ziva followed his lead and slid into place opposite him. A quick glance showed the name of the room in white stenciled letters above the door: "Cooling Tank Filter Room/Storage Bay 12."

Nodding slightly to Ziva, he made sure to keep himself relaxed as she reached for the lever. Suddenly, swiftly, she pushed the door open violently but silently. Gibbs immediately stepped into a surprisingly small room, aiming his gun at the three men sitting around a card table. The others looked surprised and reached for hidden weapons beneath nondescript clothes.

"Give me a reason," Gibbs threatened.

The thugs looked at the gun, then at Ziva and her weapon, before carefully raising their hands above their heads. Gibbs glanced around and realized that they were in a small anteroom, and a door on the other side of the room was the real entrance to the storage bay. He quickly turned his attention to the other men once he made sure the room was cleared.

"Where the hell is my agent?" Gibbs snapped, his emotions on a short leash.

One thug frowned and asked, "Agent? The boss's kid? He's one of yours?"

Ziva started to disarm the men as Gibbs kept them covered. The men were obviously lower grunts or hired hands, but the difference mattered little to Gibbs.

"I'm getting real tired of repeating myself. Where the hell is DiNozzo?"

A different thug, his eyes trained on Gibbs' SIG, jerked his head in the direction of the second door.

"They're in there. Boss said to leave them alone until he called for us. But man, we didn't do nothing! We picked him up at a garage and then brought him out here; we just did what the boss said, and it's not like his kid was fighting us or anything!" he tried to justify himself as Ziva slipped a pair of handcuffs on him.

Gibbs looked at the other door as he tossed his extra sets of handcuffs to Ziva, who caught them easily.

"Ziva, take them back upstairs and secure them at the helipad," Gibbs ordered, confident that the Mossad agent could handle the three cowed thugs; they seemed genuinely surprised that they had done anything wrong.

Ziva's defiance was completely expected.

"You must be joking, Gibbs! I am not going to leave you down here without backup!" she answered as she finished restraining the unresisting thugs.

Gibbs turned immediately and deadly serious, stepping close to her as he kept his weapon trained on the other men.

"Listen to me, Ziva," he said under his breath, his words filled with intent. "I don't know what's behind that door. I don't know if Tony's alive. I don't know if his father's in there. But I do know that I am at the edge right now, and if I take one more step…"

He trailed off, his eyes lowering slightly, and Ziva was shocked to find some deeply-hidden terror lying in his gaze.

Looking at her once more, Gibbs stated plainly, "If I shoot his father, and not in self-defense, I don't want your career ruined as well as mine. I'm not going to put you in that situation. And it's not your choice, either."

Ziva debated arguing, her own eyes trailing helplessly towards the second door, but she swallowed tightly and nodded. She knew that she was on the same edge, dancing along the same precipice. But she knew that no matter what, Gibbs would make sure Tony was okay. Ziva didn't trust herself to put his health before her need to avenge him.

"You bring him back to us, Gibbs. I'll be waiting topside with the medics."

Slightly surprised at her reaction but not-so-secretly grateful for her understanding, Gibbs watched as she ordered the three men from the anteroom, silently wondering what he had done to deserve three perps who listened, did what they were told, and didn't seem keen on disobeying him or crossing Ziva.

He listened to their departing steps, hating the loss of time but needing to wait until they were well on their way. Once he could barely hear them, Gibbs edged quietly towards the second door. He leaned close, listening intently for any noise from the other side. Hearing nothing, Gibbs checked his weapon and took a deep breath as he placed a hand on the latch.

"You had better be alive, Tony," he whispered to himself as he pushed on the latch.

The next three seconds were a blur.

Gibbs ducked into the room quickly, clearing the room of any immediate threat while desperately trying not to lose his lunch at the smell of copper and salt. He managed, but just barely.

He almost dropped his weapon as he took in the room from a non-combative viewpoint. A table was off to one side, a mass of strange and bloody tools covering its surface. Gibbs swept his gaze left, then, and noticed a barely visible pile of stained boards and chains in a corner.

The only light in the room was focused in the center, highlighting the drainage and filter grates; the corners and edges were in shadow. Tracking his weapon around the room, Gibbs froze as he saw a figure standing in the dark, directly across from him. The person was standing against the wall, entirely cloaked in gloom, but there was enough light to outline the silhouette of a handgun.

"Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head!" Gibbs immediately ordered, taking a step forward.

The arm wavered slightly, and a voice startled him, the heavy accent making understanding slightly difficult.

"I don't think so, Agent Gibbs. You're going to have to shoot me first."

Pissed beyond belief, Gibbs tightened his grip on his SIG and barked, "You really don't want to tempt me, you son of a bitch. I'm a hairsbreadth from doing just that. Now where's DiNozzo?"

The man didn't move, the gun staying focused on Gibbs.

"You think I'm going to tell you, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs took half a step forward, unnecessarily pulling back the hammer on his gun. The sound echoed menacingly through the room.

"Where is he?" Gibbs asked lowly, his voice almost a whisper.

If he was expecting an answer, he wasn't going to get one. The weapon pointed at him suddenly shifted, and Gibbs swore he could hear the muscles of fingers tightening. And in a split second, Gibbs made a decision.

The roar of his gun was expected, the second shot as well.

He saw the muzzle flash in the dimness around his target a mere instant after his own gun had discharged. He paused as he watched the man go down, sliding down the wall, the gun clattering to the ground, almost falling through the grate in the floor.

It was the rattle behind him that surprised him.

Gibbs whirled, hoping that Ziva had defied his orders and returned to back him up. There was someone behind him, yes. But it wasn't Ziva.

And it wasn't Tony.

The large, heavyset man looked at Gibbs with wide, startled eyes. A gun in his hand dropped to the ground as a red stain began spreading over his light suit jacket. He looked down, a bead of blood dripping from his mouth. His eyes met Gibbs', then, and a fierce look crossed his face.

"Always hated that little bastard. Why do you put up with him?"

Gibbs ignored his momentary confusion as he lowered his own weapon.

"I put up with him, Anthony DiNozzo Sr., because you never did. He needed a father."

Dropping to his knees as his inevitable death began to sweep over him, DiNozzo Sr. let a cold grin show, his exposed teeth feral and bloody.

"Then you've killed your son, Agent Gibbs. You did me a favor."

Frozen but screaming inside, Gibbs searched for any kind of deceit in the man's eyes. But they were expressionless, frozen in death. Gibbs whipped around as the man's body thumped to the floor. He immediately moved to the downed man, his panic rising as he saw that he hadn't moved. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his chin dropped to his chest.

Holstering his gun as he dropped to his knees, Gibbs froze, unwilling to believe what he was seeing. Blood and bruises, burns and cuts couldn't hide the face that Gibbs knew so well.

"Tony?! Open your eyes, Tony!" Gibbs ordered.

He didn't like what he could see. Tony was shirtless, and his shivering was likely coming from both blood loss and the cold interior of the ship. His eyes were darting around beneath his lids, his mouth forming silent words.

"Tony, open your eyes! That's an order!" Gibbs snapped as he pulled off his jacket, spotting a bullet hole in Tony's left shoulder.

And suddenly, Tony stopped moving.

Freezing, Gibbs felt his heart drop to his stomach, guilt, fear, and anger warring over him.

"Tony…?"

Fearful but resolute, Gibbs reached out to feel for a pulse. He clenched his teeth as he found one, thready and weak. But Tony still wasn't breathing. Tears welling in his eyes even as he refused to give up hope, Gibbs pulled him into the standard recovery position. Immediately but carefully pushing his head back, the senior agent breathed deeply into Tony's mouth twice, feeling his chest rise with his first aid.

Changing positions, Gibbs began chest compressions, knowing that his agent's heart needed help adapting to a regular rhythm.

"Come on, Tony. You're not going to die. I didn't give you permission, did I? So open your eyes, Tony, or I swear I'll kill you," he muttered as he moved back to breathe for Tony again.

A minute later, Gibbs felt his control beginning to slip. His agent wasn't responding to the CPR, and Gibbs felt his fingers slip on his chest, slick with blood.

"Open your eyes, Tony. That's a direct order. Open your eyes."

He thought he heard a gasp, then, and froze, his eyes immediately training on Tony's face.

"Tony!"

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His desk was just the way he'd left it.

The chair was clean and pushed up to the desk perfectly, desk clean and clear of most objects, and the book that he'd long since memorized sat silently and stoically on the undersized bedside table.

Yes, his life was just the way he'd left it.

His eyes strayed again to the small, black, leather-bound book next to his computer. This time, his gaze was less cursory and more insightful; he mentally thumbed through the pages, reaching a chapter and silently reciting a passage.

"_It is my firm belief that I have a link with the past and a responsibility to the future. I cannot give up. I cannot despair. There's a whole future, generations to come. I have to keep trying."_

The memorable quote of King Hussein rang through his mind, and he struggled to comprehend the words in his broken and semi-psychotic state. Then, abruptly, another thought flew at him, a beloved passage from the book branding itself over his mentality.

"_The past is history. History is the recorded story of men's hopes and frustrations, successes and failures, progression and retrogression, battle with nature and with other men, life and death, conquering and being conquered, of extreme advancement, pitiful stagnation, and complete collapse. It is up to me what stage I leave for you to live in, and it is up to you what stage you leave for others to live in."_

And then another remark, this one exiting the dying, cooling lips of the same man who'd written the previous, the same detective who had trained him in the first place, filtered through the jagged edges of his consciousness.

"_I left pitiful stagnation in my wake. Are you going to take us into extreme advancement? Or are you going to lead this world of ours into complete collapse? Your choice."_

And then, thankfully, though not soon enough, the randomized flashbacks ended as quickly as they'd started.

He continued staring at the worn book on his table, feeling the straps of his pack digging into his right shoulder. He ignored the pain and waited for the command to set down the heavy bag.

It seemed all he could do anymore was follow orders. He remembered being an individual once. He could recall, however vaguely, the process of making his own decisions. But that was no longer the situation he found himself in. He found himself After, and personal decisions remained entirely Before.

A hand on his unburdened shoulder brought him from his discontinued thoughts. He continued to stand steadily, his position never wavering. Several seconds passed before he heard a voice in his ear.

"Why did you join NCIS, DiNozzo?"

Tony stiffened slightly, his muscles straining against their own tendon and ligament tethers. He imagined he could almost hear the creaking of the stretched protein bonds. Ignoring the low groaning of his own muscles, he gave the standard response.

"I like to play cops and robbers."

The hand on his shoulder tightened like a vice, and the soft sighing from his muscles became a high shriek in his ears, and he winced against the noise. As his nerves screamed their ultimate discomfort, Tony distantly felt hot blood trickle down his chest and back, tickling him slightly. He remained still, though, eyes forward.

"You're lying to yourself, DiNozzo, and you're lying to them. You know that's not why you joined."

The words were hissed, and Tony envisioned a serpent coiled around his chest and arm, long fangs sunk into his flesh, tongue flicking in and out of a pale pink mouth with obvious malevolence. His left shoulder flared in agony, and Tony pictured blood-coated fangs digging deeper into his body. The poison was in his ears, however, not in his circulatory system.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Another standard response, except this one wasn't for NCIS, or the Navy, or any other branch of government. This answer was Tony's, and Tony's alone.

His interrogator was unsatisfied.

"Don't play with me, DiNozzo. Play with the rest of the world as you damn well please, but play with me and I'll eat you alive!"

The threat was accentuated by another tight squeeze, and a sudden picture enveloped Tony's thoughts; he saw himself inside the belly of a giant green snake, his still-moving limbs fighting against the thick muscular tissue that held him into the serpent's warm gut.

_Eat you alive, DiNozzo,_ the words seemed to whisper in his skull.

And then another whisper grabbed his attention, that of his skin slowly suffocating under a thick stream of blood. He heard the soft murmur of the billions of cells of his epidermis collectively breathing their last against the oozing onslaught of his life fluid. Active diffusion ended, replaced by slow and suffocating passive diffusion.

It suddenly occurred to Tony how much damage he'd sustained. He glanced down, half expecting to find a long and scaled body twitching in the blood around his torso. The serpent was missing, but the blood remained. It coated his chest and soaked the top of his pants; he knew the situation was the same on his back.

As he returned his gaze forward, he felt the python move behind him, quickly, sharply, exactly how a snake would strike. The fangs withdrew from where they'd been embedded in his scapula, and he blinked in surprise as he felt his bag fall from his back; had he dropped it or had it been pushed? Tony couldn't tell, and a moment later, he decided it didn't matter, either.

He felt the tension that had long been drawing on his skeletal system climb to a crescendo, and something in his left calf snapped. He looked down as he fell forward in slow motion; seeing his leg as though his jeans weren't there, Tony saw his ankle slack and lying at an odd angle, and his calf looked bunched up, almost like a crumpled paper. He realized with mild discontent that his tendo calcaneus, his Achilles' tendon, had snapped; free of their shared anchor, his gastrocnemius medial and gastrocnemeus lateral had sprung up, bundling up his calf with excruciating acuity. Modern medical science was too far away to him, and he knew instinctively that he would never walk again.

As Tony found himself on his knees, holding himself up with trembling arms and blood-drenched palms, he heard someone move in front of him, heavy boots echoing in his brain. Then, suddenly, there were hands curled around his neck. The snake image vanished like fog evaporated by a desert sun. There were fingers; he could count eight long, thick phalanges and two stubby digits around his windpipe.

The hands were squeezing desperately.

_Why am I not fighting back?_ Tony asked himself sluggishly.

The agent paused for a moment, his hands freezing in mid-motion as he turned the individualistic idea over in his mind. His tormentor appeared to hear his thoughts, and a slightly peeved voice sounded through the room.

"Oh, you are funny, Anthony D. DiNozzo. Fight back? Fight against me? Have you completely forgotten who I am?"

And then the hands squeezed again, crushing both Tony's trachea and his distinct thought with the same desperate energy that was beginning to awaken Tony's memories. Driven by instincts born deeper than reflex, he reached up and began pulling at the hands in a similar manner as the ones killing him. He choked and his left arm fell from the fight, defeated, mortally wounded, his shoulder unable to support the limb any further.

His right hand diligently kept fighting, and Tony found that with every forced breath, every gasp of precious air, more and more of an amnesiac framework disassembled itself in his thoughts. He forced himself to look up, and for a moment, his vision cleared.

And he beheld the one man who could ever bring him to his knees, figuratively, emotionally, physically, psychologically, socially, civilly…

The only man whom he'd ever hated.

The only man whom he'd ever withheld the impulse to kill.

Because then, without an object for his overflowing hatred, Tony didn't know if he'd exist anymore.

But anger wouldn't kill, words couldn't destroy, and Tony grasped this truth with his last full breath.

"I hate you!"

His scream, if it could be called that, was pathetic to his own ears, but he screamed his cords raw in the span of three words. His lungs filled with his ruined and tangled vocal cords and tracheal fluids as he glared at the man who was killing him.

"I hate you, you fucking bastard! Rot in hell!"

His words sounded somehow, despite his missing voice box; the cry rattled and grated, and glass seemed to cut through Tony's ears into his brain, echoing down his spinal cord, shattering his vertebrae as crystal.

Then the moment was gone, his pain returned, and his next cry was of complete, utter, and unparalleled suffering. His bones seemed to melt, but still he fought.

Tony somehow realized that he'd be fighting forever, but he would never be able to kill the man who killed him.

His throat closed, and his crypt of a gullet became the graveyard for his vocal misery. Tears of salt water, lymph, and blood slipped from his lids, and he squeezed his eyes against the stinging, acidic brew. High above him, somewhere he couldn't imagine even existed, a laugh sounded through the stars and moons and planets, reverberating with the utmost highest decibel in Tony's thoughts.

His heart crumbled to dust in his chest, and his blood coagulated in his veins and arteries in an instant. He froze, unmoving, dead but alive, aware but insane, a single concept repeating in what was left of his shattered, iced-over soul.

_I hate you. Die. Burn in hell. Fucked up bastard. I hate you. _

_I hate you._

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It was only Gibbs' Marine training that kept him from reacting when Tony suddenly lashed out, knocking him onto his back without warning. Gibbs immediately tried to scramble backwards but found himself pinned beneath Tony. He looked up at his agent, shock and worry etched deeply into his features.

Tony was straddling him, one hand pushing his torso against the floor, the second aiming his previously discarded gun at Gibbs' head. The barrel was pressed mercilessly against the side of the older agent's temple. But Gibbs wasn't concentrating on that.

His attention was on the wild and uncontrolled man above him.

Tony was staring at Gibbs with wide and glassy eyes, his pupils contracting and widening sporadically. His breathing, which before had been nonexistent, was harsh and stuttering. The hand holding the gun trembled violently.

"Easy, Tony. It's me," Gibbs soothed, almost like one would an abused puppy.

His words simply seemed to enrage the man above him.

"No! Just shut up! You can't lie anymore – you're dead!" Tony snarled, the conviction and anger behind his words physically startling Gibbs.

Keeping his hands still, though they itched to do what they were trained to do, Gibbs slowly shook his head as he said, "No, Tony. I'm alive. You're alive. I'm not lying."

Tony blinked hard, his hand shaking more, the barrel pushing bruises into Gibbs' skin. But the anger wasn't gone.

"You are lying. Gibbs would never let you live. Never."

Blinking his comprehension, Gibbs cautiously pointed towards the dead body across the room.

"There's your father, Tony. He's dead. But we're both alive."

Confusion spread over the senior agent's face as he glanced at the prone figure a few meters away. He looked from the body to Gibbs, back to the body, back to Gibbs, until the silver haired agent felt like he was watching a tennis match.

"Boss…"

Gibbs sighed heavily, much of his concern melting away as he saw recognition in his second's eyes.

"It's me, Tony. You can put the gun down," Gibbs said softly, trying not to make it sound like an order.

Tony ignored him for a moment as his eyes locked on the still body of his father, a sudden and terrified look crossing his face.

"Did you kill him, boss?" he asked lowly, almost whispering.

Gibbs bit his lip, unsure if the information he was about to present would be good or bad.

"No, Tony. You did."

The terror in Tony's face multiplied exponentially, then, and his breathing and pulse ratcheted up a few dozen notches.

_Bad news, then,_ Gibbs cursed mentally.

Tony somehow pushed himself to his feet and staggered backwards, stumbling into the wall behind him. Gibbs cautiously got to his feet and stood silently for a moment.

"Not a sound…" Tony suddenly muttered.

Gibbs was unprepared to see Tony suddenly train the gun on Gibbs again. Holding up his hands, Gibbs gave him a surprised look.

"Tony, it's me," Gibbs emphasized, taking a step closer.

Tony shook his head, almost desperate in his movements, and he turned the gun towards his father, tears starting to track down his face.

"No, no, no…" Tony moaned, the gun shifting from Gibbs to the dead body rapidly and repeatedly.

Whatever that sense was that Gibbs possessed, it started to thunder through his thoughts.

"Tony, don't do it," he ordered carefully, inching forward.

His second's eyes suddenly trained on Gibbs, and Gibbs felt he couldn't breathe.

"I can't," Tony whispered.

Gibbs saw everything in slow motion, then, even as he moved quicker than he ever had before.

Tony closed his eyes, immediately drawing the gun up to his own head. His finger tightened, his jaw tightened, and he started to pull the trigger.

Just as Gibbs body slammed him into the wall.

The two fell to the ground, and Gibbs immediately grabbed the gun from Tony's limp fingers and tossed it across the room. He turned to his agent again, exhaling heavily as his heart started beating in his chest again.

Tony was out cold, curled into a ball, shivering. Gibbs hunkered low over him as he pulled a radio from his pocket.

"Ziva, call Ducky and tell him to meet us at Bethesda. Have the crew secure those prisoners and escort the medical team down here. Tell them…"

Gibbs trailed off for a moment as his throat tightened.

"Tell them to bring restraints and to be on suicide alert."

He clicked off the radio before he could hear Ziva's response. Sitting the radio on the floor, Gibbs rested a hand on Tony's feverish forehead, his heart aching as he saw the closest thing he had to a child battle fiercely with his internal demons.

"Just rest, son. We're going to take care of you," he murmured softly.

The wait for the medics stretched into oblivion.

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YAY! I finally posted a new chapter! Yes, there's much comfort to be coming soon. Plus, you'll get to find out what the final game was! What did Tony agree to do to save Gibbs? Who knows??? Well, I do. But that's not the point! A new chapter coming SOON, I promise! I hope this chapter was enjoyable to some degree! Please R&R!!!


	7. Home

Title: Sacrificio

Chapter: Chapter 7 – Home

Summary: Tony has to sacrifice everything for his team in order to save them from his family.

Categories: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Family/Friendship

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone that's stuck by me! Just a warning, here: I'm not sure exactly how my POV's are going to play out here, so keep a look out for POV shifs. I can't promise equal time to all the team members, but that's mostly cause this story is about Tony and Gibbs. Everyone else is just there cause they're, well, there. I also have a few angsty, Tony-centric, showing-him-as-the-uber-hero one shots I'm thinking about putting up…I'm just not sure if I should. I'll think about it. So please enjoy this FINAL chapter!

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The dash up the stairs to the helipad passed as a nauseous blur for Gibbs, leaving him sick and frustrated. The medics had stabilized Tony in the storage room and had strapped him onto a helo stretcher before hustling him up to the top deck.

And he'd fought them every step of the way.

He kicked and punched, lashed out in every way, his eyes closed and his teeth grinding. He'd fought like a man possessed until the medics had strapped his hands down and he'd struggled himself exhausted.

From his encounter with Tony, Gibbs had been expecting the struggle.

He hadn't been expecting the silence.

The entire time he fought, Tony didn't say a word. He didn't make a single sound. Even his movements seemed muted somehow. And it was the silence that was echoing like fireworks in Gibbs' mind.

Sitting in the helo, Gibbs looked at his second in command, trussed and tied like a Thanksgiving turkey. It hurt him more than he thought possible, seeing his friend still and quiet. Even when Tony was fighting the plague, he hadn't been quiet. He had fought with labored breath and strained relays of movie plots. He had been constantly shifting, coughing, moving.

The man in the stretcher before him was not his second.

Just a shell.

"Sir, we've got a message from Bethesda. They've got an emergency crew called and standing by at the helipad; they'll meet us the second we touch down. They also wanted me to relate a message from someone named Goose or something. He wants you to know that he's gotten Brad Pitt to Bethesda as well. Like the actor?"

Gibbs looked at the co-pilot with incredulousness on his face, before he allowed himself a small chuckle.

"Yeah, something like that."

Closing his eyes, Gibbs let the warm sun envelop him and he smiled a small smile.

Yes, his second was injured. Yes, he was broken and shattered. Yes, he was shredded to pieces.

But he was safe. He was going home.

Gibbs was bringing Tony home.

Pulling his cell, he handed it to Ziva, who was keeping track of the medics' motions and making sure they weren't bringing more harm on her partner. The shock of seeing his condition had yet to fully wear off.

"Ziva, send one of those typed messages to Abby. Tell her I kept my promise."

Blinking, Ziva took the phone and nodded, her eyes betraying her confusion at Gibbs' grin. Seeing her stunned and slightly angry look, Gibbs just shook his head.

"We found him, Ziva. He's alive. We're bringing him home."

Turning her gaze once again to Tony as her fingers danced over the phone's keypad, Ziva understood his train of thought and nodded.

"Yes, Gibbs. We are."

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The primary jovial relief that Gibbs had felt upon taking Tony from the ship had worn considerably over the course of Tony's treatment. The one thing that Gibbs had always been able to count upon from Tony, the one thing that was as inevitable in the world as death and taxes, was the one thing that Tony stopped doing.

For eight weeks, Tony hadn't said a single word.

Through his treatment at Bethesda Naval Hospital, through all the questions of surgeons and doctors, his teammates and friends, he hadn't said one word. If a question required more than a yes or no, Tony would just shrug, close his eyes, and shut down.

Over and out.

Gibbs finished signing the last of the paperwork the nurse had set before him. Eight weeks in a hospital and Tony was finally ready to come home. Of course, until Gibbs said otherwise, home was wherever Gibbs was.

Handing the paperwork back to the nurse on duty, Gibbs turned as he heard his name.

"Agent Gibbs, I'm glad that he's going home with you," Dr. John Guinness said as he held out his hand.

Gibbs nodded and shook hands with the doctor that he'd grown accustomed to seeing. Dr. Guinness opened the folder he was carrying and looked over it while he talked.

"It looks like he's mostly healed up and clear of any chance of infection. The scans that we took last night could still find no reason for his muteness, although it's probably less a physical ailment and more a mental one. Hopefully, once he's out of here and in more familiar surroundings, he'll be able to conquer that."

Gibbs nodded and responded, "He's tough, doctor. He'll pull through this."

Dr. Guinness smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Agent Gibbs, you have to be sure not to push too hard. I've seen the videos and I know what his father put him through, both physically and mentally. He was dosed with LSD and tortured. That kind of treatment and the repercussions of it may prove impossible for even the strongest person to pull through," Dr. Guinness lowly warned.

Gibbs lowered his eyes for a second, temporarily haunted by the blank stare he'd seen on Tony's face every day for eight weeks.

"He'll pull through, doctor."

Cocking his head, the doctor cautiously and hopefully asked, "You still haven't found the last video, have you?"

Gibbs signed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"No, we haven't. The others were emailed to us automatically, one every three hours, even after his father was dead. Some kind of automatic system; it's all geek speak to me. But we haven't been able to find the last one, which could tell us why he isn't talking. We'll find it eventually, though. We're not giving up on it."

Dr. Guinness nodded and closed the folder, again holding out his hand.

"If anyone can pull him through this, it's going to be you, Agent Gibbs. Good luck. If you run into any problems once you get him home, give me a call. I live just a few miles from you and I can make house calls, all right?"

Nodding his thanks, Gibbs once again shook the hand of the man who'd saved Tony's life.

"Thank you, doctor."

Dr. Guinness walked away and Gibbs headed towards Tony's room. He took a deep but silent breath as he crossed the threshold, steeling himself as he always did. The private room had a single bed in it, and Tony was sitting on the edge of it, waiting. He was clothed in black boots, black pants, and a loose black long sleeve tee shirt. His eyes were cast towards the floor and blank, as always. A bandage was wrapped around his right hand, protecting the last of the stitches in his palm, and the wound on his face was fading to a light pink. The rest of the reminders of Tony's ordeal were hidden under his clothes.

Still, Gibbs couldn't help but notice how much weight the man had lost.

_Dammit, Tony…_

Gibbs kept his tone light and his gaze easy as he picked up the duffel bag sitting next to the bed.

"You ready to get out of here, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, swinging the bag onto his shoulders.

The expected answer came: a simple nod and no eye contact.

Gibbs nodded back.

"Good. After you, then."

Tony shook his head once and waited, and Gibbs decided this was a battle that didn't need to be fought. Instead he simply headed towards the door, pausing only momentarily to make sure that Tony had stood and followed him, and began leading the way out of the hospital.

He'd already made it clear that he didn't want any hospital staff, no matter how cute the nurses were or how well their wishes were, to approach Tony on the way out. Fortunately, the staff respected his request. It may have been because Gibbs made quite a reputation for himself during the first few hours of Tony's stay, when they'd almost lost him twice.

Gibbs shuddered at the thought and glanced at Tony, who was silently and obediently shuffling at his side, looking much like a whipped dog. However much he tried to deny it, it broke Gibbs' heart to see his once spirited second acting like someone's whipping boy.

_That's just what he was, too. I swear, if I ever got my hands on that guy…_

Much as he wanted to, he couldn't, seeing as the man was dead and buried. Rolling his eyes in disgust, Gibbs thought back to the day of the funeral; even The Washington Times had carried the story of philanthropist and charity activist Anthony DiNozzo Sr.'s death. The Director had decided to keep the details of Tony's kidnapping, torture, and rescue under wraps as matters of national security.

The exact words that had been used were, "It wouldn't give too much credit to this agency if we admitted that we couldn't protect our own agents on our own property in our own buildings. America does not need to know that CEOs are capable of terrorism."

The exact words that Gibbs had responded with were, to say the least, colorful.

Gibbs wanted nothing more than to broadcast DiNozzo Sr.'s crimes, get his company shut down, and get him posthumously executed.

With that out of the question, he settled with heading to the gun range and breaking every current record.

The three thugs that had been picked up by another Coast Guard chopper were currently serving fifteen years on armed federal kidnapping charges. Gibbs' testimony ensured that they wouldn't be up for parole any time soon, good behavior or no.

Gibbs wrenched himself from his thoughts as they exited the hospital. It was a dark and cloudy 9 am, with rain drizzling on and off. Gibbs silently cursed the weather and led his silent lead agent to the government car he'd driven. Gibbs opened the trunk and tossed the duffel in haphazardly before heading to the driver's side door. He stopped, however, when he noticed that Tony hadn't gotten in the car. Instead, he was shaking his head rapidly as he stepped away from the vehicle.

"Tony, what is it?"

Tony didn't say anything, as usual. He just stood still and shook his head.

"Is there something wrong with the car?" Gibbs asked as he walked around to the other side.

Tony shook his head once and went still. Gibbs looked over the car and asked, "You don't want to ride in the car?"

The other man nodded once, and Gibbs frowned. This was new.

"Do you want to take a bus? Train? Walk?"

Gibbs frowned even more when Tony nodded at the last suggestion. Walking would be difficult. It wasn't like he lived right around the corner. It would probably take them all day to walk back to his house. The rain certainly wouldn't help matters; they'd be wet and frozen through by the time they got there.

"DiNozzo, I'm not sure of how good of an idea that is…"

Gibbs trailed off as he watched Tony hurriedly open the passenger door and all but throw himself in the car. Gibbs stood there for a moment before walking around the car and getting in. He sat there and looked at Tony curiously for a moment before he put the keys in the ignition.

"You want some music?" Gibbs asked, completely ignoring the fact that he hated to listen to music while he was in the car.

Tony shook his head, and Gibbs nodded.

"All right. Home we go."

Gibbs drove home carefully, obeying all traffic laws for one of the first times in his life. He kept watching Tony out of the corner of his eye, hoping, as he always did, that he would see some flicker of emotion on his second's face.

Of course, he didn't. He never did.

Instead of offering what Gibbs so anxiously wanted to see, Tony was staring hard at the dashboard, and Gibbs could see his eyes tracing the airbag emblem over and over again. Gibbs thought back to the hundreds of times DiNozzo had been in that same seat, hanging tightly to the support bars as Gibbs threw them around turn after turn. He thought back to when Tony had relished the chase and the catch, his smile glowing a hundred watts, his muscles trembling with adrenaline. He thought back to when Tony had triumphantly turned in both perp and paperwork at the end of the day, that smile never faltering.

And Gibbs fairly heard his heart break again.

They reached Gibbs' house within the hour; traffic was relatively light that time of day, even in the middle of D.C. As he turned into his driveway and shut off the engine, Gibbs looked over at his agent. Tony was asleep, his chin on his chest, his face emotionless. But Gibbs could see there was restraint in his expression, a visible confirmation that awake or asleep, Tony was holding himself back from everything he used to do. Gibbs just needed to figure out why he was doing it, and how to make him stop.

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It had been three weeks since Tony had arrived at Gibbs' house. He'd been cleared for desk duty a week after his hospital release, and Tony had shoveled through years worth of backlogged paperwork, both his and other agents', making NCIS one of the only agencies with a clear paperwork log.

And still, he'd done it silently.

At first, other agents had tried to talk him out of his shell. They'd slap his back, joke, prattle on and on, before finally being driven away by Tony's unflinching gaze and his silence. Gibbs had kept a careful eye on his agent during these encounters, praying desperately for a glint of emotion. His prayers were in vain, though; he never saw anything.

It was a day of slow cases when it all came to a head. McGee and Ziva were off chasing down cold leads on even colder cases. Tony had stayed home that day, exhaustion from endless paperwork grounding him for the day. Gibbs was finishing up a daily report when he got a frantic call from Abby. He couldn't understand a word she'd said, but immediately dropped the phone and ran to the elevator that took him to her lab.

He was both unsurprised and dismayed when the Goth was waiting for him at the elevator doors. His breath caught in his lungs, choking him, as he saw an immeasurable amount of sadness on Abby's face. Her mascara was smeared over her face, her lipstick wiped away, her hair mussed. She said nothing as she grabbed Gibbs' wrist and pulled him to the lab, her sniffing giving Gibbs an uneasy feeling. Abby deposited Gibbs in front of her monitor, pressed a single button, and jogged from the room, bursting into audible sobs as soon as she left.

Gibbs swallowed hard, his throat tight and his mouth dry, as he turned his attention to the monitor in front of him. The screen was black for a moment, and then a surprisingly short clip popped up onto the screen. In the space of two minutes, Gibbs threw up three times into the wastebasket beside Abby's desk, a telltale smell informing Gibbs he wasn't the first to do so.

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Tony watched the man in front of him dance in the fire around his feet, horns growing atop his head and snapping into reality with startling clarity. The agent shrunk back as much as his chains would allow, his back screaming its discomfort.

"We're at the final game, my son," the demon growled softly, moving closer.

Tony whimpered silently, barely able to keep his tongue tight enough between his teeth to stop the sound.

"You just have to do one thing to save Gibbs. Just one thing, boy. Can you do one thing?" the voice asked, dripping with condescension.

Tony whispered, "Anything. Anything to save him. Please…"

The demon stalked forward and gripped Tony's neck with one hand, the other gripping his hair tightly, pulling his head back, bending his neck close to snapping. He stood close to the chained man, his breath like venom in Tony's ear.

"Renounce them, boy. Renounce your family. They hate you. They want nothing to do with you. Everything that goes wrong in their lives is your fault," the man snarled, and Tony's eyes widened, his gaze crossing the background, seeing the images of his family that had sustained him through the ordeal staring disapprovingly at him.

"Leave them behind, Anthony."

Tony felt himself nod slowly, the images of his team disappearing slowly, one at a time, dissolving before his eyes.

"But Gibbs…he's not leaving. He won't," Tony murmured, staring desperately at the ghostly apparition behind his father's back.

"And Gibbs…if you hurt me, if you let any harm come to me, boy, you can never speak to him again. You can never speak to any of them again. Or I'll kill him."

Tony's eyes widened, his eyes glazing over.

_No choice. They hate me. Have to save them. Have to save Gibbs._

"Not a sound," DiNozzo Sr. ordered, the incomplete sentence an order in itself.

Nodding slightly, Tony agreed miserably, "Not a sound."

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"Tony!" Gibbs shouted as he ran into his house.

The upstairs was empty, and Gibbs ran straight downstairs, following his gut. He descended the stairs two at a time, his knees protesting violently, and froze as soon as he reached the bottom landing.

His basement was immaculate, everything organized and shelved in some sort of order. The center of the room was empty, his last boating project having been finished several months before. There was one thing in the center of the room, however.

Tony stood silently in the basement, his eyes closed, every part of him still. He didn't move as he heard Gibbs bound down the stairs, and he remained unmoving as Gibbs approached him slowly. The older agent was unsure as to how he should approach his agent, concern and fear warring for dominance in his mind.

"Tony," he said softly, placing a hand on his agent's shoulder.

The other man's eyes finally slid open, and Gibbs felt a glimmer of hope as he saw a flash of surprise in his gaze before it was buried. Gibbs was fairly sure the younger man had been unaware of his arrival.

"Tony, please, you have to talk to me!" Gibbs fairly begged, feeling keenly and, his gut told him, accurately, that he was close to losing the man forever.

Tony said nothing as usual, and Gibbs tried a different tactic.

"I saw the last video, Tony. I know what he made you promise. He's dead, Tony. He can't hurt me. He can't hurt any of us. You have to say something," Gibbs whispered.

Tony blinked once at the revelation of the final video, but whatever he would say was still locked behind his vow to his father.

"Don't you see what he's doing, Tony? He's making you hurt me," Gibbs stated softly, his tenuous hold on his emotions waning, his stomach threatening to rebel again as he relived all the horrors Tony's father had wreaked.

Tony blinked again, frowning and showing his first bit of emotion in two months. Sensing he was on the right track, Gibbs squeezed Tony's shoulder tightly.

"You're like a son to me, Tony, and he's making you push me away. Don't let him win, Tony. You're stronger than that," Gibbs said, his voice gruff with checked tears.

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but immediately stopped himself, averting his eyes. Gibbs felt an unearthly amount of anger take hold of him, anger at Tony's father and what he'd forced the young man into promising.

"Dammit, DiNozzo! Don't let that son of a bitch win! You're a better 2IC than that! You survived all through this shit just to let some fucked up promise keep you from living what's left of the life he didn't take from you?" Gibbs snapped, pushing Tony roughly.

Tony stepped back a few feet, a semblance of muted shock showing on his face. Gibbs stepped forward and pushed him again, his words cutting his own heart as he spoke.

"You're just going to give up? You're going to let him win? You're going to let him beat you?" he yelled, shoving Tony against the wall.

Tony shook his head quickly, confusion playing over his face, and he raised his hands to protect himself from Gibbs' anger.

"I lost you once, Tony. I'm losing you again. You think I'm going to just sit by while that happens?" Gibbs shouted as he pulled a fist back, his anger driving his actions.

Tony flinched, and in a whisper so low Gibbs almost missed it, he whispered, "Don't."

Gibbs froze, his mouth literally falling open, and Tony's eyes dropped long-held tears as he murmured, "I can't do this anymore. I can't hurt you anymore."

The white haired agent inhaled sharply as Tony added, "They all hate me and I'm so weak; why do you care when I let you all down?"

Gibbs' anger evaporated and he let fatherly instinct guide him, grabbing Tony and pulling him close, hugging him tightly as his own tears fell.

"You could never let me down, son. I love you," Gibbs breathed, his surrogate son's voice echoing in his ears.

Tony didn't move for a moment, but finally let himself sink into the embrace, shaking with suppressed emotion. With Gibbs' declaration of unconditional love, Tony felt the noose around his tongue slide away, and the whispering words of his father echoed one last time in his head before falling silent. He felt his knees tremble, his other joints following suit, and he glanced over Gibbs' shoulder, seeing the smiling images of his team – his family – lounging on the stairs.

Tony felt everything in his life come to a single point, at that moment. He felt the burden of his father's legacy, his crimes, and his torment rise above his thoughts, the weight lifting from his shoulders. He felt the last of his doubts and fears dry up in a single instant, his mind circling around one fact.

His hero, his mentor, his boss, his friend, was the best and closest thing he had to a father. Leroy Jethro Gibbs loved him for who he was, and what he was, and what he had done and could do. He loved him as a son, and forgave him his crimes, whatever Tony perceived them to be.

If he was innocent in Gibbs' eyes, then how could he declare himself guilty?

With that realization, the tears came in earnest, the trembling gave way to shaking, and Tony clutched Gibbs tightly as a single thought permeated his mind, one he was now free to speak.

"I love you too, dad."

And in all ways, he knew he was home.

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AHHHH!!! FINALLY DONE!!! Sorry for all the delays and thanks SO MUCH to everyone who stuck by this story!!! I won't go into why it took so long, because I know that no excuse is good enough for the wait you have all endured. So let me just say thanks so much and God bless!!!


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